


SWTOR: Chaos and Harmony

by SWTORAscension



Series: Ascension [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Anarchy, Arkanian, Ascension (ship), Balosar, Baroonda, Bombing, Brentaal IV, Canon Non-Binary Character, Carida Corsairs, Cathars (Star Wars), Duro - Freeform, Echo Runner (ship), Esseles, F/M, Feeorin, Fight Club - Freeform, Galactic Republic (Star Wars), Geonosian, Hutts (Star Wars), Imperial Reclamation Service (Star Wars), Jedi, Kel Dor, Kiffar, Klatooninian, Law Enforcement, Liberator (fighter), Mandalorians (Star Wars), Multi, Nocturne (Ship), Ord Radama, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Ortolan, Planet Serenno (Star Wars), Planet Tatooine (Star Wars), Rampart Mark Four, Raxus Prime, References to Depression, Republic SIS, Rhen Var, Sith Empire (Star Wars), Sith Pureblood (Star Wars), Starfall Squadron, Sullustan, Terrorism, Togrutas (Star Wars), Tusken Raiders (Star Wars), Vantage (ship), Vultan - Freeform, Warlock Squadron, Zeltrons (Star Wars), Zonju V, aleena - Freeform, hyperspace, swoop racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWTORAscension/pseuds/SWTORAscension
Summary: Volume III - Interlude (Late 3640-3638 BBY):A collection of one-shot short stories dealing with a variety of characters, both familiar and new. The war between the Republic and Sith Empire might be the largest shadow over the Galaxy, but for individuals carrying on their daily lives, the view is vastly different. Tales of swoop racing, bombing runs, backwater militias, and terrorist attacks that aren’t all they seem…
Series: Ascension [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1347505
Kudos: 1





	1. Hidden Numbers

### \--︱Hidden Numbers

#### 3640 BBY

#### Jundland Wastes

#### Tatooine

The sand was cold and its bleached surface gave off a soft glow under the moonslight. No one ever talked about just how cold the desert world became without the twin suns baking every exposed meter during the day. Those spacers that even made it this far into the Outer Rim only expected barren land and unbearable heat, maybe getting an inoculation for Womp Rat Fever. Loose-fitting and light colored clothing was perfect for shedding heat and avoiding burning one’s skin, but almost every household kept heavier ponchos, coats, and wraps to keep the chill away after dark. Those that were brave enough to venture into the wilderness, of course.

Listin Owlai had set out after nightfall, when he was sure all but the couple night watchmen had gone to bed. It had been a struggle to push the speeder bike the first quarter mile with just the base repulsors running, but it had been worth it to sneak out of the outpost. From there, however, he had opened the throttle as far as it could go. Cutting past dunes and rocky outcroppings, Owlai had used speed to make up for what seemed to be far from the amount of time he needed. Once he was within a walking distance though, he’d steered the bike to an out-of-the-way collection of boulders to stash the vehicle. Any closer, and he’d risk the element of surprise he’d worked so hard to maintain.

Dismounting, he committed to making the rest of the journey on foot. The Citizens’ Militia sniper had never imagined he’d be looking at life so tactically when he first joined up a few years ago. Taking the pre-packed bag of supplies strapped to the rear and slipping the straps over his shoulders, Owlai squared his shoulders and started walking with the long-barreled hunting rifle tight in his hands. It was a simple model that had been passed down to the young man when his father died. A tool he’d spent his whole life training with to protect the family’s moisture farm.

After joining the militia though, Owlai had made a number of additions and upgrades. A better scope, calibrating the rangefinder, and an increased power supply for deadly precision and stopping power. The wooden stock and battered metal components kept it looking more rustic than it truly was. And the artistic carvings made by his ancestors kept it an heirloom that he could never part with.

Not like the militia had the credits on hand to buy anything but surplus gear at the moment anyway. Originally started as the ‘Anchorhead Militia,’ the group was set up to protect the city. For Owlai’s unit though, they rarely got support all the way out here. Meant to be a law enforcement group, it was made up solely of local farmers and merchants that were called upon in emergencies. Times when Sheriff Encot couldn’t solve minor disputes between neighbors. For years, the militia had only been called out to deal with the tribal Sand People or to confront the nomadic Jawas when one of their group had become a bit sticky-fingered. Although fighting off Sand People could be dangerous, the militia had lost more members to beast attacks and heat stroke than hostile action for most of its existence.

But the real threat had come from the stars in insectoid form - Geonosians. A highly structured society of castes that glorified battle and violence for both entertainment and conquest. Their drones and warriors had little ambition but to serve the hive, and they constantly searched for new places to put down roots and expand. Unluckily for Tatooine, the Geonosians liked the heat and lived in the neighboring sector. Their so-called ‘Expeditionary Forces’ had already attempted a quiet invasion once a few years back. Small groups that could strike and seize territory without bringing down the ire of the Galactic community.

The lowest point was when the Militia’s main headquarters at Manister Base was overrun and occupied for a few weeks in a stunning attack that had killed almost a dozen good people. It had taken a few assaults by both the militia and offworlders to dislodge them and kill their leader. After that, it was hard for most of his fellow militia members to feel safe again. Even today, much of the damaged power cells and lesser-priority structures hadn’t been repaired in favor of better fortifying the main building from future attack.

He would have assumed that would be the end of it until people started going missing. Local commanders said it was purely coincidence and likely unfortunate members getting caught in an unforgiving desert. But when Dak Williks went missing, Owlai knew it was far more sinister. He’d spotted the blurred wings of the Geonosian drone in the distance carrying his friend off. The sleemo had been lucky that his rifle was back inside, or it would have been an easy shot. Even when he told the Constable what he saw, they chalked it up to a mirage. That Dak would be back soon. But it had been days, and he couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

There was little cover with the open desert, so although it was slow-going, Owlai was glad he had skipped riding closer. Even before his enemies heard the sound of his engine, they would have spotted the plume of dust the bike tended to kick up. Even after an hour and a half of creeping ever closer to his objective, his feet hadn’t become as sore as he’d expected. Part of that had come from taking the time to not overpack for his journey. Only the bare necessities of water, a couple ration bars, power packs, and a first aid kit. More than that, and he would be exhausted when he needed to be alert and ready for a fight. If he was honest with himself though, he’d far prefer the Wastes and their rocky terrain to the constantly shifting and seemingly endless Dune Sea. For a bit more stealth he had taken the time to cover his second-hand armor with layers of fabric that concealed his outline. Pulling the hood forward a little, he made sure his dark hair and features were hidden.

Along with the dry breeze lightly blowing, there was an unnatural sound coming from somewhere in the darkness. Some sort of animal, he assumed, as many creatures took advantage of the cooler temperatures that came with nocturnal hunting. Depending on what was out there would determine how Owlai proceeded. Out of habit, his hand automatically made its way to his belt.

Moving the electrobinoculars to his eyes, he scanned until he found the creatures. A group of sandtuskers crowded around the mutilated carcass of a fallen wraid. Overwhelmed by the blazing heat of the previous day the beast had likely died of dehydration, leaving it ripe for the scavengers to descend. The muscular creatures surrounding it were horrifically ugly, all bony ridges across their backs, large tusks, and small beady eyes above giant, spiky maws. Shredding through the flesh, they chewed and smacked noisily. Distracted as they were, Owlai kept his distance and stowed the device. Although the creatures mainly targeted the already deceased, he had no doubt something slower and fresher would be a far more appealing meal.

Rising out of the desert ahead were a cluster of windmills and the unmistakable tops of a couple large moisture vaporators just above one of the ridges. A good sign that meant he didn’t have too much further to travel. Deep in his gut, he felt the hot ball of anxiety grow as the coming battle became all the more real. There was no turning back now, no matter what happened.

Cresting the hill, Owlai dropped low into an almost crawl to minimize his profile against the light of the moons. No use coming all this way just to give up the element of surprise immediately. The compound was a simple affair with a taller warehouse in the center, likely a former windfarm collective or trading post whose occupants had been disposed of in short order. A few smaller buildings with round roofs would hold the compound’s supplies and housing.

Using the scope of his rifle for a closer look, he scanned across the scene for some initial reconnaissance. From here he could see the dark shapes of figures moving around with weapons, their strange gait and a couple hovering on blurred wings confirming it was the Geonosians he was looking for. There were more soldiers than Owlai expected, especially on guard duty so late at night.

Whispers and rumors among the homesteaders had claimed there was a new War Marshal that had flown down with reinforcements in the wake of his predecessor’s death. This just proved there was more to the conspiracy theories than the leadership was willing to admit. Owlai remembered War Marshal Polarin being spoken of as a tactical prodigy when his forces took Manister. But this new one? Everything was hushed tones like they might summon a demon by speaking the name. A being brutal and unyielding, leaving only death and disappearing. Owlai assumed this meant Polarin’s death was taken as a challenge. It only steeled the Geonosian resolve to create a permanent foothold.

Motion caught his eye as a large group of banthas suddenly appeared on course to attack the compound, each saddled with riders. Shaggy animals with curved, spiral horns charged heavily towards the main structure with surprising grace, considering their size. They’d chosen a path with softer sand to cushion the sound of their footfalls. A deliberate tactic that had likely been learned over centuries of raiding.

Sand People. A small army of them. More than Owlai had ever seen during their typically small scale attacks on farms. Something larger was at work here, and he worried that it wasn’t just Dak inside those walls. Through his scope, the lead bantha was ridden by an individual unique from the others. Brown robes decorated with feathers and what looked to be a scyk skull fashioned into ceremonial headgear. Owlai assumed it was their tribe’s Shaman or Chief. More likely the latter.

The attack was fearsome and unyielding, with many of the riders firing their cycler rifles with incredible precision in mid-gallop. Even with his practiced skill, Owlai wondered how accurate he’d be with a blaster on even a speeder bike. At the same time, Geonosians poured out of the main doors in groups like a shaken hive. It quickly began to even out the numbers between the two sides. The lack of ranged weapons among the tribesmen didn’t help the situation.

Bursting from cover behind stacks of crates, another group of Sand People had outflanked the fortified Geonosians with a haunting berserker cry. Swinging their gaderffis into the shocked foes, the sound of warbled screams and cracking chitin exoskeletons echoed off of the buildings. A well-executed ambush that Owlai couldn’t be sure if he was impressed or concerned by its efficiency. It was enough to break the main defensive line, but left the battlefield a tangled mess of blaster fire and close quarters combat. Normally it would be an incredibly target rich environment, but Owlai had already chosen a side - the locals. A temporary alliance of necessity.

Shifting his aim, Owlai only took shots he could cleanly make. Better for both his limited power cells and trying not to draw too much attention to himself. It was hard to keep calm and his reticle on target with all the chaos. Luckily, it seemed the tribesmen were making serious progress in thinning out the enemies without him. Even for the occasional kill shot from Owlai and the vigor of the tribal forces though, they lacked the numbers and firepower of their enemy. Blunt weapons were no match for military-grade rifles, and losing a few drones didn’t seem to break the Geonosian morale as they cut down one of the banthas.

Blowing a hole through yet another enemy crouched and hiding from the raiding party, Owlai realized he had a decision to make if they hoped to win the day and get Dak back. Once the Sand People made it closer in, he could wait for them to finish their assault - or he could head down and join them. It seemed crazy in his head, but as he moved his rifle to his back, he knew it was the only option. Reaching under his layers, he pulled the pistol he had ‘requisitioned’ from Manister’s armory before sneaking out. Less range, but far more versatile up close. Skirting the boulder he was behind, Owlai headed for the nearest cover.

Hopping between a pile of dusty machine parts and the back of a moisture vaporator, he avoided most of the battle and neither side seemed to notice his slow incursion. No one even expected him to be there, and it was clear the few Geonosians that had uncovered that fact were already dead. Stopping with his back against the wall, Owlai took a deep breath and tried to calm the wave of adrenaline pumping through his system. Swinging around for the next sprint, he almost ran directly into a pair of Geonosians withdrawing for a better firing position. A half dozen shots to their strangely unarmored upper torsos ended their counterattack in seconds.

Ahead, the tribesman Owlai had pegged as the leader of this group was tearing into a group of Geonosians. Killing a defender with a devastating mix of blunt force trauma and the sharp edge of the durasteel, the rest of them held their fire and tried to flee. Face-to-face there wasn’t room to fire without endangering the others, and a stock strike was an inelegant solution. One of them wasn’t quite so frightened, however, making just enough space to level his blaster at the Chief’s back. Owlai already had his weapon ready, firing twice into the Geonosian’s chest.

In response, the Chief spun on the human and dropped into a defensive stance with a low growl. There was no way to tell facial expressions through the fabric and metal, but Owlai assumed it was a mix of battle rage and confusion at finding a settler saving his life.

Owlai lowered the smoking pistol and put a hand on his chest to signal peace before nodding towards the main building. It was maybe one of the only gestures Owlai knew in the signed version of their language. Not that he could even begin to vocalize any of their deeply foreign spoken words. All the grunts, growls, and pitched cries. There was a cruel irony in the fact he only knew the signal from learning it with the intention to mock it. Something to sarcastically sign while believing that the Sand People only understood violence against the settlers. Standing here now, the thought only made him feel ashamed.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl around the pair as they stared one another down. When Owlai was almost sure the man would end up attacking him with the historic distrust, his posture softened. Instead, the Chief gave Owlai a sharp nod and pointed the spear tip of his weapon at the main building. Returning the acknowledgment, they both turned and headed for the main doors.

More often that not, however, the militia member found himself struggling to keep up. The Chief never seemed to stop moving, and there was no wasted action as he tore through anyone in their way. Hooking limbs to drag enemies off balance before finishing them off with deadly blows from both the club and bladed mace. Even though the rounded, blunt end seemed to cause brutal damage as the Geonosians screeched in pain. Owlai had heard once that the point of the club was often dipped in sand bat venom, and the sight before him only confirmed it. He almost felt as if his shots were giving the wounded a measure of mercy.

Only a few of the blaster-wielding insects were much of a ranged threat in such tight quarters, and Owlai was more than happy to provide that needed cover fire. There was no sign of Dak or any other prisoners, but he tried not to let doubt creep in when he needed to stay focused. Massive crates only helped funnel them to the far end, where a ramp led to the offices on the upper level.

Taking cautious steps up the main ramp, Owlai scanned back and forth with the muzzle of his pistol. There didn’t appear to be any sharpshooters hidden up here, having rushed down to take on the Sand People up close. Still though, it was better not to walk into blasterfire that he could avoid. At the top, he paused for a moment before sliding to the edge of the administrative office’s main door. Ensuring his unlikely ally was ready, he hit the control panel.

The Chieftain went first, angling to the right as he rushed into what could only be the command center. He had chosen poorly. A bright blaster bolt streaked in front of Owlai’s face and struck the robed nomad in the shoulder. It left a dark burn on the fabric as the man howled in pain. He stumbled forward and dropped to one knee to try and fight through the pain.

Moving in from the other side, a Geonosian appeared that was clearly the War Marshal they’d been looking for. His chin-like protrusion hung down to his chest and he was clad in ornate armor. A shining metal set bedecked with glowing jewels that covered his torso, hips, and shoulders, with a gilded helmet that denoted his status. His wings remained folded as he stood triumphantly over the wounded man. Aiming the blaster pistol, he seemed pleased that he could personally put this creature out of its misery.

But the Chief wasn’t about to give up so easily. Dodging out of the way, he swung the vicious flanged mace head at his attacker. Everything was a blur of motion as the commander tried to defend himself at the same time the swirling robes brought down the heavy strike on the War Marshal’s arm. Even over the blaster firing again, Owlai could hear the cracking of his exoskeleton. It had all happened so fast that the young human found himself still frozen in the doorway as he watched it play out.

Everything fell still for a moment, the combatants stumbling apart. The Geonosian tried to raise his weapon again, but the pistol slipped out of his grip and clattered to the floor. Blood seeped from his mangled arm that hung loosely at his side. He looked up at Owlai just as the man raised his own pistol and shot the commander in the head. Teetering, the armored leader slumped to the ground.

Turning to check on the Chief, Owlai saw he was seated against the wall with his weapon next to him. One hand nursed the dark burn on his side, and his breathing came more labored through the can-shaped sand filter. Although he wasn’t trained as a medic, Owlai knew that the wound looked critical enough to need serious medical attention. The tribal leader tried awkwardly to stand again, but the pain seemed to overwhelm him.

Owlai motioned for the Chief to stay still. “No, it’s alright. You stay here, and I’ll go free everyone. Just try not to move, and I’ll get you some kolto. They have to have some around here.”

Touching a cloth-wrapped hand to his robes, the man shook his head. “GuRR’ThR’RRokK.” He said gutteraly, picking up the gaderffi and handing it to the human. There was an intensity and sadness to the unintelligible words.

Taking the archaic weapon, Owlai looked it over in confusion. “What do you want me to do with-” he began to ask, before looking up and seeing the goggled eyes cast blankly towards the ceiling.

Whatever the man was trying to tell him, there wouldn’t be an answer now. But he had an idea of what the weapon was for. The Sand People respected this symbol of power, and maybe they would listen to him enough to finish the mission if their leader was willing to entrust him with such a precious object. Looking to the door, he knew there was only one place left to search.

There was no way to ever prepare for what he found waiting for him in the next room.

Based on all the specimen exam tables on the wall, the Geonosians looked to be studying their prisoners. Likely getting detailed information on the native species as part of their pre-invasion strategy. It horrified and disgusted him to see such cruelty inflicted upon even those he usually saw as enemies. Among the handful of Sand People was a single human in tattered clothes. Gray hair matted with sweat ringed the sides of his shining, dark-skinned head. _Dak_. He was still alive, but barely, based on how his slumped head lolled back and forth.

In one corner was a cart piled with corpses. Mostly Jawas and Sand People, although he could see the twisted face of at least one human victim. Blood streaked what clothing they were still wearing. There truly were worse fates than death, and having it come slowly and agonizingly was no way to die. He almost felt relieved that they were no longer in pain.

Moving to the nearest console, Owlai hit the release override for all of the prisoners, each one collapsing unceremoniously into a heap or onto their knees. None of them were walking out of here under their own power, if they made it out at all. Owlai knew the rest of the raiding party would be here soon, but Dak was his priority. Heading to the sole human, he began checking the man’s vitals.

“Listin? Is it really you?” Dak’s voice was weak and cracked with a dry and ragged throat. “You… You came for me.”

Owlai smiled grimly at his injured friend. “Of course I came. Besides, it’s no fun being the best shot in camp when there’s no competition.”

Slipping a canteen out of his pack, he hoped to help the man regain some of his strength. Taking the container, Owlai tipped a small stream of water into the man’s mouth. Even tepid, it would be refreshing in his dehydrated state. Dak feebly reached out to try to drink it all at once, but Owlai slowed him.

“It’s okay. Don’t go too fast. You’re safe now that the War Marshal is gone.”

“Wait, Trogol’s dead?” Dak’s battered face lit up with relief before becoming deeply introspective. He’d never seen the man cry, but there was a first time for everything. One could only imagine what he’d endured here. “Thank the stars someone killed that monster!”

Slipping his head into the crook of Dak’s arm, Owlai pushed with his knees to pull the man into a mostly standing position. “C’mon. We need to get out of here.”

“What about all the Sand People?” As he asked, a group of armed tribesmen surged into the room, fanning out to help their own. They ignored the militiamen nearly entirely, pushing past to make sure their people were still alive. It was a chorus of grunts between them before a single wail at seeing the dead.

Owlai could sympathize, but he had a mission to complete. “Don’t worry about them. We have an accord.”

Small fires from around the complex still burned, leaving an ashy pall over the area. For a planet that rarely even had thin clouds in the sky, it was a foreboding sight. Bodies of two dozen drones and warriors were mixed with the occasional tribal fighter. It took more effort than Owlai would have expected to step over the ones in their path, but the weight of both Dak and his gear made him far less agile.

Spotting an unoccupied cargo speeder, Owlai assumed its former owner wouldn’t protest to him taking it to cut down on the walk back. More likely than not, the insectoid was probably one of the bodies littering the sand out here. He was just glad the tribesmen hadn’t decided to wreck the speeders to prevent the Geonosians from escaping. Priorities, but it worked in his favor.

“So… tired.” The voice said in his ear.

“Hang in there. We’ll be home soon.”

Shifting Dak’s weight on his shoulder, Owlai gingerly helped load the man into the empty vehicle bed. Once he seemed as comfortable as he could be on the bare metal, the militia sniper turned back to the smoking buildings, the rest of the Sand People helping their own captured friends onto the banthas. Giving his temporary allies a parting wave, he was surprised to see a couple of them wave back.

Hopping into the front seat, Owlai turned and stared at the ornate gaderffi with its runic carvings. The emotion that came through those expressionless goggles and wraps - showing that saving the prisoners was more important than his own traditions. He’d been wrong about the Sand People, and it was something that needed to be remedied. Shaking it off, he started the engines and took off in the direction of the rising suns, the sky growing pink-orange with the coming dawn. No matter what the consequences were, he knew he had done the right thing.


	2. Hard Bargain

###  \--︱Hard Bargain 

#### Late 3640 BBY

#### Zoronhed

#### Zonju V

The sound of blasterfire broke the early morning buzz of insects. _Ambush_.

Bolts snapped and crackled around him as Oban Resh burst from the hidden entrance amongst the weathered walls of the old temple. He sprinted across open ground before sliding into cover against the ruins of a wall. It wasn’t high enough to shelter him for long, but the stonework would hold for now.

“Keep your head down!” Togin Pavill yelled over at him, reloading his shells. Fifty yards away, his scattergun boomed continuously, tearing through his closest attackers and suppressing the others. Even for his age, the old human sure had fight in him. That man could take on a Krayt Dragon barehanded with enough accarrgm in his system.

Resh looked back just in time to spot the nearest of the attackers descending on them. Double-tapping the trigger, he struck the masked man in the head, only to watch him crumple.

Firing bursts from his YV-23 rifle, the Togruta mercenary took down another heavily armed pair running toward their position. At the sight of his comrades going down, yet another attacker ran blindly from the firefight. Silence began to descend as the last echoes faded. Not daring to move, Resh waited until he heard the rustle of bushes behind him. In one smooth motion, he vaulted the wall, spun, and dropped the final enemy with a series of shots to the torso. The body wore quality gear and armor but didn’t have any recognizable markings.

Quickly changing power packs, Resh stood and ran to Pavill’s last position. The man had disappeared, leaving only Resh’s pounding footsteps in the stillness. Once he was nearly on top of his target, he skidded to a stop. Pavill was still there, but he now lay face-down in the dusty soil. Even in the dim pink light of the coming dawn, it was obvious that a dark pool was forming around his body.

Stepping closer, Resh slung his rifle and knelt. _Kalabast, Pavill. Why couldn’t you take your own advice and just head for the city_? So close to making it out too. Shifting his gaze to the dropped scattergun, Resh had to admit that this was fitting in a strange way. A man who knew only violence and war would prefer to die like this, with his boots on.

Reaching forward, it took strength to turn his partner’s body over. Dust streaked where sweat has beaded on his face, gray hair, and clothes. His eyes were vacantly staring toward the horizon, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and surprise. Three scorched black holes stood out on his stained shirt and jacket. _No_ , Resh admonished himself; _there was no glory in this _. Pavill was a mercenary, but he genuinely cared about the job and getting it done. It was more than he could say for these scavengers coming to steal their prize. The old man had saved him on multiple occasions, and now he was just another casualty Resh couldn’t save.__

____

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, the Togruta quietly removed the man’s identification and a few trinkets from his pockets. No one knew if Pavill had a family somewhere, but there was no reason he should have to die anonymously. Even if it meant turning things over to the Bounty Brokers’ Association, perhaps his legacy could live on in some fashion. After stuffing them in his bag, he made sure to gently cross his friend’s arms. A burial would be more appropriate, but Resh worried that reinforcements would be on the way soon.

____

“Meez jewz ju, my friend. I hope you find peace.”

____

Moving quickly, Resh ran through the brush, his weapon up and scanning. His ears and montrals sharp for any noise or vibration out of place that could signal a threat. He didn’t encounter any resistance on his journey, eventually reaching a clearing between a collection of boulders where their battered landspeeder sat. Hopping in, Resh threw his bag in the back and ensured nothing had been tampered with in their absence. Before he started the engine though, he leaned his head back and ran his hands over his face.

__“Damnit, Pavill.” He said quietly to himself as he put the vehicle in gear and sped away. The landspeeder left a cloud in its wake as it blew across the empty ground. All he could see in any direction was shallow, dusty, scrubby, sparsely-foliated canyons and gorges. The few structures along his path looked nearly identical from where he’d come from - littered with deserted ruins carved from sandstone rock._ _

____

As he drove, Resh ran one hand down the white patterning on his red face, questioning where precisely things went wrong. The job had been simple. There was no security force, no trying to get into some heavily defended base to get to the target. For once it wasn’t even a person he was tracking down, but a simple object. Up until now, the hardest part was just tracking down where in the wilderness they even needed to go. It should have been a simple retrieval job - get there, find the objective, head back into town, and get a fat payday.

____

According to Pavill, the crumbling ruins were some sort of ancient secondary palace for some royal figure. It was hard to tell quite how majestic it once was, with the tilted, broken obelisks out front and facade that had been worn away generations ago. Resh had wondered what the appeal was to living out so far from civilization, water, or a single green plant. At least there hadn’t been any real predators to worry about.

____

Three hours of searching. Three hours to find it, even with all the information they’d gathered. Calling in favors, buying drinks for the locals, and ‘investing’ in some local businesses. If the pay at the end of this was as high as advertised, it would have been well worth it. But Pavill’s life was worth more than credits.

____

Resh let out another long breath as he reached the outskirts of the capital. There wasn’t any sort of patriotism or greed behind his motivations now, the Togruta just wanted to finish this job for Pavill. To make sure the man hadn’t died in vain. He would still cut the take fifty-fifty, and just store the old man’s cut until he found a worthwhile place to send it.

____

Crossing underneath one of the gates in the thick and towering city walls, Resh wasn’t sure if he felt more or less safe. If his enemies found him in the middle of nowhere, surely they could track him back to the most populated place on this continent. The city itself was all old stone, itself more durable and better for dealing with the planet’s duststorms. Perhaps part of the appeal was not needing to update or rebuild any of the existing structures over the years.

____

Picking a side street, he pulled over and tried to keep his vehicle out of sight. Making the rest of the journey on foot might be slower, but would allow him more options to slip away and disappear into a crowd or quiet shop. Stepping out of his filthy ride, Resh closed the hatch and walked with purpose towards his destination. Most of the buildings were tightly packed and built for foot traffic anyway, a relic of a bygone era.

____

Passing under the rippling cloth awnings over most entryways, the fabric doing its job in obscuring him from anyone hoping to attack him from above. He kept his pace steady and his eyes searching as he walked. His gaze shifted from person to person around him, subtly checking for weapons in their hands or malice in their eyes. Few people looked his way, and most of them seemed curious about the colorful alien wandering the streets of their town. Resh let it slide, as Togrutas were a rare sight this far out.

____

The old storehouse was only a few blocks away from the city center. Somehow blockier than the rest of the architecture, it had few windows on its monochrome exterior. The stone walls were pitted and worn from years of dust and small stones battering the building, eroding the surface into something as rough as the people that likely owned it. Even though the rusted cargo door was locked, Resh had instructions to come in through an old side entrance.

____

Other than a handful of crates, the main floor was nearly empty. Few lights were on in here, keeping the whole place dim and foreboding. Clutching the bag on his shoulder a bit closer, Resh’s hand hovered over his holstered blaster. He found it hard not to expect a second ambush today after the first one had failed.

____

Muted voices came from the main office on the upper level. They were arguing about something but it was hard to make out the words. Creeping closer to the main ramp, Resh took his time to slowly move upstairs. It was worth the extra effort to keep himself alert and alive to finish whatever ended up happening with this transaction.

____

Hitting the activation panel for the door, Resh found more of a receiving room than an office. A couple couches faced one another with a carved wooden table in between. On one side were two men in Imperial uniforms. The tan accents Resh recognized as a symbol of the Imperial Reclamation Service, a branch of the Imperial military that were more archeologists and academics than soldiers. Across from them were a trio of rough looking spacers with gear that had seen better days and a variety of armaments strapped to their bodies. One of them was humanoid, but Resh couldn’t tell his species under the spiked helmet that covered his features.

____

“I won’t say it again, pirate. Leave now before we make things unpleasant.”

____

“The artifact isn’t your property yet, Imp.”

____

Resh’s eyes darted between the two groups. “Am I interrupting something?”

____

The arguing Imperial threw up his hands. “Finally! I was thinking you might not show, and I’d be left with these… ruffians.”

____

“You might still be left empty handed.” Resh rested his hand on his weapon. “Ran into a little trouble out there. Someone sent a team of mercenaries to try and kill us. Steal the prize off my body. I’m getting the crazy impression it might have been one of you double crossing me so you didn’t have to pay my fees.

____

“Preposterous!” One of the Imperials looked genuinely offended. “To even accuse us of something so devious.”

____

The pirate closest to Resh shook his head. “Not our style. If the Carida Corsairs decide to try and kill you, we’d make sure you knew it was us.”

____

“How do we even know you have the package?” The other human officer had ridiculous facial hair, in Resh’s opinion. It made it harder to take anything he said seriously.

____

“I have it.” He said firmly. “If you know my reputation, you know I make sure the job is done.”

____

“Well, we’ll see about that!” The lead Imperial turned quickly and reached into his bag. It would be the man’s final mistake. Resh drew his pistol and fired in one smooth motion. It was more instinctive reflex than purposeful, stopping a threat before it ever directly endangered him. Any chance of survival was extremely low, as the shot struck the man in the heart before he could fully turn around again. Falling backwards over the top of the couch, Resh recognized the handheld scanner tumble free.

____

With that single trigger pull, however, the room erupted into chaos.

____

The pirates moved first, two of them drawing on the remaining Imperial in an attempt to be the only party left at the table. Although only an archeologist, the officer was surprisingly quick as well. All three fired nearly simultaneously in a dazzle of flashing bolts. Moments later, the Imperial toppled to the floor and one of the pirates tried to stumble away from his mortal wound before bouncing off of a table and lying still.

____

As for the helmeted one, he had chosen Resh as the biggest threat in the room. A pity for him then that the Togruta already had his weapon in hand. Before the big man could raise his carbine, a shot scorched into his throat. Grasping at the deadly wound, Resh was just thankful he couldn’t see the pained expression on his face.

____

Finding himself at far less of a numerical advantage, the final pirate hesitated just a moment too long. Resh took the opening and fired until he saw the man go down. He was already past the point of no return, and it was a bigger risk to leave any of them alive to seek revenge later. There was a pang of guilt behind the final kill, but he knew it was a necessary evil. Pirates weren’t the forgiving sort.

____

As the final weapon discharge faded away, Resh found himself alone in the worst of ways. Everything smelled starkly of burnt ozone and singed flesh. It only punctuated just how wrong this whole situation had become. There was no Pavill, no buyers, and no one to blame but himself for the outcome.

____

When the door suddenly opened again, Resh spun with his blaster ready. Standing in the doorway was a small, blue Ortolan in colorful robes. Seeing the weapon, she raised her hands slightly in surrender, but still pushed forward to enter the room. The Togruta held his fire more out of confusion based on her non-threatening appearance and size than anything else.

____

She kept her hands open while lowering them, still slightly out from her body to show she was unarmed and not looking for a fight. “Oban Resh, right? The montrals gave it away. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a seat.”

____

He watched as she stepped carefully over the corpses scattered in her path. She hadn’t made any threatening moves, but he was naturally suspicious. “Who are you?”

____

“Me? Oh, yes. My friends call me Adogeego.” She slid into the much larger chair and shifted to get comfortable. “Then again, my enemies call me Adogeego too. More a nickname, but I’ve become quite fond of it.”

____

“What is this? Some sort of trap?”

____

She shook her large snout and floppy ears. “Not at all. I’d heard about this deal, and had offered to mediate it. Be a neutral third party to make sure that everyone felt at ease. Looks like that wasn’t the case.”

____

“A misunderstanding. Someone sent their people after my business partner and I at the ruins. He was killed, and I barely made it out. Seemed only logical that it was ordered by one of these guys.”

____

Adjusting her robes to fall a little flatter, she leaned into the cushions. “Logical to you, but it was an assumption. Your attackers were a local group of mercenaries, hired by one of the noble houses to protect the old palace. They came after you because they thought you were looting their history. Which you were, so not unfounded.”

____

Resh scoffed. “It was just a job.”

____

“I’m sure they felt the same.” She nodded to the bag in his hand. “So, do you have a plan on what to do with that, now that your clients are dead?”

____

He didn’t, but there was no reason to tip his hand even further. Especially to such a relaxed interloper. “Get back to my ship, see what it’s worth back in the Mid Rim.”

____

“Oh, you’re welcome to make a run for it. Take your speeder and try to make it back to the spaceport. However, I’ll caution you that the odds are against you. Either the local constabulary will try and arrest you for murder, “she motioned around at the carnage, “or this Imperial gentleman’s friends will have you killed before you reach orbit.”

____

Resh watched her closely. She looked fully engaged in conversation, her hands resting comfortably in her lap. “Thanks for the warning. I think you’re missing a group though. What about the pirates?”

____

“I wouldn’t worry about the Corsairs as much. Word has it that this group went rogue to come out here. A get-rich-quick scheme. The Imperials and locals though, they’ll definitely want you locked up.”

____

“So what’s your proposition? People like you don’t show up like this unless you have an angle.”

____

Adogeego spread her hands in silent agreement. “My people will get you out of this building and offworld. Full protection, and I can guarantee your safety. I would take what’s in that bag, obviously. In return, you’ll get…” She paused and considered numbers. “How about seventy-five percent of what the Imperials were going to pay. That seems fair enough.”

____

“Those credits were meant to be split between two of us.” Resh retorted.

____

And now it’ll be fifty percent for your partner, and twenty-five for you. Plus the passage offworld. Your partner wasn’t the one to shoot the buyers.”

____

He felt anger rise in his throat. “Now you listen to me-”

____

“Settle down, hunter. I’m offering you a peaceful way out. It’s up to you if you accept it or not.”

____

Resh realized he didn’t really have another option. Slipping the tarnished coronet out of his satchel, he tossed it to the small alien. “Here. It’s yours. Now get me my money.”

____

The Ortolan pressed a small button on her wristband. A moment later, the main door wooshed open again to reveal a couple armed and armored guards. Their weapons remained holstered, although Resh kept his hand hovering near his own hip out of caution.

____

“Thank you.” She pointed to the open door. “These two will provide payment, slip you out a secondary exit, and get you back safe. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

____

Their transaction completed, Resh took the camtono of credits and followed the two security operatives back into the darkened hallway. Back in the room, Adogeego’s black eyes watched the door for a long moment until she was sure he was gone. Pulling a holocomm out of her robes, she hit the call button for the pre-programmed holofrequency.

____

The miniature human bust nodded in deference. “Yes? What are your orders?”

____

“Let the Chieftain know we found his ancestral family crown. He’s been searching for it for some time, and it will be good to return it to its rightful place. That crown will likely be what unites the houses under a single throne. ”

____

“As you wish.”

____

When the figure faded out, Adogeego laughed softly to herself and stood. This had been a rare opportunity, and one more little way to leave her mark on the Galaxy. Maybe not creating an entirely peaceful government, but it was likely to cut down on a lot of the political infighting and occasional violent skirmishes. That would save a few lives in the process, or so she hoped. Navigating around the dead buyers again, she headed for the door. There was an heirloom to return, and a cantina she’d hoped to try before heading further into Wild Space.

____


	3. Peacebringer

### \--︱Peacebringer

#### 3639 BBY

#### Saffia Foothills

#### Serreno

Gazing across the rippling and swaying forests reminded Jeerah Beor of just how idyllic Serreno could be. The natural beauty and bountiful flora is what had drawn her ancestors to this world in the first place. It was a planet that would provide peace and independence from the politics of other systems. A hint of a smile formed at the edge of her lips while thinking back on all the wonderful places she’d seen growing up here. Hiking the trails and only occasionally straying enough to get lost. Racing her friends both through the city streets and up the precarious tree branches on the outskirts. Even taking her questionably reliable airspeeder to get an up-close flyby of the misty mountain ranges half a continent away. This place was her home, and she was proud to be a Serennian.

There was a time before the Imperial occupation, of course. Beor had been alive to see it, even if the memories ran together when looking back on her childhood. The Sith had chased a Jedi Master here during the last war, fighting a quick battle before the true invasion had begun. Massive warships darkened the skies as they were brought into the upper atmosphere to rain fire on House Palerma’s villa. Shuttles, grouped up like an unnatural migration of birds, swooped down before landing a legion of armored soldiers that filled Saffia’s main square. It only took a handful of days for them to seize the capital of Carrania, supposedly the most heavily guarded city on the planet.

Looking back on it, the reason for the invasion was most likely a form of punishment. Subjugating the planet for their willingness to shelter an enemy of the Emperor. Rumor had it that a couple of the noble houses had mustered mercenaries to fight back, only for them all to be slaughtered. Beor understood their actions - Serrenians were fiercely independent and had a history of resisting any sort of outside authority.

But that was twenty years ago. A literal lifetime for most of the younger generations that had grown up with checkpoints, loyalty oaths, and being especially careful about what ideas they expressed. The strong-willed and patriotic were all either underground, imprisoned, or dead. Most of the nobility rarely spoke on anything that truly mattered, making news for things that belonged in a gossip broadcast more than real news. It left the rest of the populace to go about their lives with their heads down, lest they be seen as attempting anything subversive.

Beor couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment she’d begun her journey to radicalization. To become what most of her friends and family would have termed an ‘ _enemy of the Empire_ ’ or ‘ _terrorist_.’ It was likely dozens of smaller injustices and actions that pushed her to seek something new. Losing people to false charges and roundups, propaganda emblazoned on most screens, and being treated as lesser than the outlander Imperials bureaucrats that overruled the noble families at every turn.

For most of her life, Beor had somehow been content, even while living under such authoritarian rule. She had avoided most of the initial growing pains by being naive to what was truly going on. Her parents had always seemed so anxious and sad, but she’d written that off as a dozen different things. Eventually the prison walls had become invisible through sheer routine. Living what seemed to be a normal life - friends, a decent job in a shop, catching up on the latest films from Ziost, a friendly diner on the corner, and holidays to the countryside for a bit of escape. It made questioning any of it, even for a moment, sound like she was insane. Things could be a bit strict, but she was happy, right?

There was a chill in the air tonight, especially near the open window, sending an involuntary shiver through her skin. Wearing full armor or a combat suit would usually draw far too much attention to her and her friends, but perhaps she had underdressed for the weather. That didn’t mean she hadn’t slipped a duraplast chestplate under her green vest in case one of the Imperials aimed center-of-mass. It was just as important to blend in with the rest of her fellow civilians as preparing for a fight.

 _Or perhaps this chill is more about the anxiety of waiting for things outside of my control_...

A heavy sigh made her shoulders sink as she thought back to that first attack. Word was going around that the Republic had somehow broken through the impenetrable fleet over Dromund Kaas and killed the Emperor. Completely preposterous to think that a being as powerful and long-lived as the Emperor could ever be defeated. But then every screen in the city had become a non-stop loop of variations of counter-messaging. A mix of kindly telling people not to believe everything they hear, while also threatening anyone that even mentioned ‘falsehoods and lies’ with prison. Eventually Beor had gotten sick of it, taking a discarded metal rod and smashing every holoprojector she passed.

In hindsight it was impulsive and stupid with extremely poor tactics. Actions like that usually would have earned her years in a cell or a blaster bolt in the back. She’d ended up sprinting away down an alley when they spotted her, and was shocked no one had come for her in the middle of the night. But it had given her a rush to be so brazen, and proved that perhaps something wasn’t factual just because the announcers kept repeating it over and over.

That small act of rebellion had inspired others as well. It was a few weeks later when her friend had slipped her a few holorecorders worth of Republic feeds he had pirated. Valfaz Yoova had always been more into questionably ethical hobbies, but this was one time she was happy to take advantage of his slicing skills. They were simple news broadcasts and a few mindless films, but it gave Beor a glimpse of life outside the Empire’s control. A life that was worth fighting for.

She subtly touched the pistol tucked away in a concealed holster on her lower back. It was an old hold-out model, built only for a handful of shots with such a small power cell, but it did the job in emergencies. A small comfort that had been both her first and most reliable weapon in getting out of hopeless situations. Her whole movement had been kicked off by this thing, forced to shoot a Lieutenant trying to arrest one of her friends that had pointed a weapon her way.

Recruitment to even resist the Empire with civil disobedience had been far more difficult than she imagined. Beor didn’t exactly look like what anyone would imagine a battle-hardened revolutionary. Far from it with her petite frame and bright eyes. So she shouldn’t have been surprised when others weren’t leaping at the chance to face death by Imperial blaster at her side.

Her first recruits ended up being those closest to her - a few friends and neighbors that trusted her enough to take a chance. Those not willing to take direct action ended up being incredibly useful in support roles. Gathering and maintaining their supplies had become a critical part of any sort of action against the soldiers patrolling the streets. Food, spare boots, even the occasional grenade made its way into the stocks. 

They had started small with vandalism and property destruction, like her earlier attack on the screens. It wasn’t long though before they escalated to open fighting. Her poorly trained and equipped group was no match for even a standard infantry squad, which they learned quickly and painfully in the casualties they sustained. From there she had ordered strictly hit-and-run actions to offset their numbers. Torching speeders, picking off single soldiers with scoped rifles, or spraying fire from a speeder into a group of officers eating outside a cafe. The goal was always to take the shot and make an escape before the Imperials could respond. Almost all of their weapons and gear were scavenged from the dead, but only during the rare opportunities they had to do so. Better to abandon a rifle than one's life.

It wasn’t long before the occupiers made their anger and frustration with this insolence known. 'Forced Rationing' in key provinces had been the most powerful and non-violent way to starve out any dissenters by making them come to city centers to collect their allotment. That came with less subtle, but just as insidious countering tactics. Troopers would flood into local towns with armored vehicles as escorts, just to punish the townsfolk for not doing more to hand over insurgents. Community leaders would be arrested and carted off to intensive interrogations to instill fear in others. Every now and then someone would give up their neighbor, preferring to sacrifice someone for momentary peace. Beor saw it as cowardly, and would only draw that officer back the next time they needed another body for the pyre.

She stared into the quiet skies, mostly cloudy with clusters of stars showing through the gaps this far from the city. Around the edge was a blue-green hue of the magnetic fields in the upper atmosphere. Quite a calming sight to behold. Especially because hope was quite literally on the horizon. 

After fighting alone for so long, it only made sense to reach out to the Republic. Getting an encrypted message into the right hands though took months, between Imperial interference and anyone believing the message wasn’t a trap. Beor hadn’t been picky, assuming any well-crafted plea would at least be examined by either SIS or the military. Waiting was the hardest part, and she’d found herself growing impatient in the interim, assuming that Serenno would be ignored or abandoned in their time of need.

But the response had come just when she needed it most. A military officer named ‘Colonel Kreska’ had sent her a holomessage hidden in a children’s toy as a show of faith. An advisor to the Supreme Commander of the Republic Military, which meant that she’d gained more attention than expected. His glowing miniature had pledged solidarity with the Serennians, but admitted his resources were limited to assist. Moving forces that far behind the front line was a serious undertaking with heavy casualties even before they reached the surface. He would only be able to spare a couple elite squads to act as trainers for her inexperienced fighters in tactics and guerrilla warfare. It would be enough to boost their capabilities, even if it wasn’t a full-scale invasion. There would also be a crate of heavy weapons heading her way, which would allow them to cripple the Imperial crawler tanks and slow any counterinsurgency operations. At this point any help was more than welcome.

Now the only thing left to do was provide them a proper landing zone.

Thuds from the hall outside snapped her focus back and warned her of someone heading her way. The footsteps had the quick and purposeful urgency of either very good or very bad news. She hoped for the former considering her ammunition supplies. Drawing her weapon, Beor spun to cover the door from partial cover. When the panel slid open, it revealed a plain looking man in dirtied worker’s coveralls. He carried a bag over one shoulder and looked shocked to see the muzzle pointed his way.

“Thank the stars.” Beor breathed. “I almost shot you! You’ve been gone so long, I thought something might have happened.”

“Caution takes time, my friend. Better to ensure there’s no chance of failure.” Yoova smirked, although concern was tight on his face.

“No one spotted you, right?

“Relax. By tomorrow morning this will all be over, and we’ll bring peace back to the city.” He turned to look out at the view of the treetops gently shifting. “I used ion charges instead of explosives to reduce the chances of the Imperials detecting my breach. The downside is that it’s only temporary. Your friends only have a few hours to land and get clear before their systems come back online.”

Beor nodded. “They’ll be here. This is what those guys train for – precise insertions behind enemy lines. Should be simple enough with the Imps blinded. The longest portion will be offloading the weapon crates and getting them hidden. I doubt anyone is going to investigate the site, but better not to chance it.”

“I hope you sent enough bodies to assist. It’s not like we can get loader droids all the way into the woods.” The insurgent moved to the table and set the now empty satchel next to the comm console. It was pointless to wear it once all the charges had been delivered.

“We should have enough.” Beor assured him. “I sent Izron and his best fighters. A small team, but they’re fast and well-trained. It’ll prove useful as a solid first impression for the Republic to see how we operate.”

“Solid choice. They might even beat out you for our movement’s best asset.” Yoova sighed as he scanned the desk. “What about the Imperial security layout? I did my part and opened the door for this little invasion. I hope you held up your side of the plan.”

Beor chuckled as she dug into a pouch on her belt. After all this time, how could he still doubt her skills? “Yeah, yeah. I have them right here. It won’t shut down the alarms or anything, but at least we’ll have a map to plan out the attack. When we’re ready...”

It was the flash of emerald light and the distinct sound that stopped her from finishing the statement, rather than the pain she might have expected. Beor had been wounded by shrapnel once, back during the initial attacks on the Imperials. That had been hot, a burning sensation from the metal that radiated. But this? It was only a momentary heat in her gut before becoming ice cold. Something about how a blaster shot scorched the nerve endings as it passed through. The feeling was both surreal and terrifying.

She looked down to see the pistol in Yoova’s hand, a look of sadness and determination etched across his visage. Beor might have tried to lunge, to fight him off, but the confusion had made her hesitate too long. Shock was setting in, her legs weakening as she fell backward and clutched the blackened spot.

“I’m sorry, Jeerah. This is one mission I can’t follow you on.” Holstering the pistol, Yoova retrieved the datacard from the floor and stuck it in the satchel. Moving to the comm array, he changed the frequency and sent out a call. “Snare command, objective completed without issue. Operation is a go.”

“Roger that. Your compliance will be rewarded.”

Beor tried to speak, but found it was getting harder to breathe with each passing moment. Instead, she tried to rasp the question that was both the simplest and hardest question she’d ever asked.

Yoova ended the call before looking down at her solemnly. Even for his determination, the man’s eyes were damp. “Why? Because we’ve been fighting for a couple years now without end, starving half the time, and for what? You think a few Republic soldiers and a crate of rockets will suddenly turn things around? We haven’t gained anything but half-destroyed buildings and a couple dozen Imps caught in the crossfire. Then the crackdowns in response that have rounded up hundreds of innocent people for our crimes. I assumed we’d be caught in this cycle indefinitely, until I met this Imperial officer a few weeks ago. She showed me how they’re trying to bring peace and order to this planet. Food shipments, medical supplies, rebuilding the damaged sections of the city. They may be a bit heavy-handed and strict, but there’s even a plan to force the organized crime groups offworld for good.”

Gasping for breath, the dying woman just stared daggers in response. She’d lost all feeling in her legs as her body fought futilely for survival.

“I didn’t do it for money, although they offered to give me the full bounty for you. They actually requested I keep you alive, so they could make a public example of you. No, this was about returning to some sort of normality. The officer has already delivered a few months worth of food to my house. After weeks of watching my kids cry in their sleep because of hunger, I can actually provide for them again. Give them a proper childhood free from fear of violence. Don’t judge me for trying to protect my family.”

Outside, crimson beams streamed from the ridges and into the thick clouds, leaving them glowing. The anti-aircraft cannons that should have been blinded or disabled by Yoova’s work. Flashes of white and yellow rumbled from inside the purple-tinged clouds in a sort of unnatural lightning storm. Within moments, the night sky had a new meteor shower. Hundreds of flaming chunks of debris streaking towards the planet’s surface. One of the Republic shuttles surged clear, having escaped the worst of it, only for a follow-up blast to shear its gull-shaped wing off. Fighting for control, the shuttle spun into the forest below before blossoming into a fireball.

Beor felt the hot tears stinging her eyes and wetting her cheeks as she watched silently. It was a twisted irony that her anger and pain was likely the only thing keeping her alive. A whole platoon of troopers killed by one man’s actions, and likely all her loyal friends would join them before the night ended. If there was something poetic about all this, she couldn’t see it through the rattling breaths.

Yoova gathered his things and threw on his satchel before heading towards the door. Pausing, he turned to look at his former friend drowning in despair. “I know you can’t see it, but I’m doing the right thing. I’m ending the war in a single night.” Drawing his pistol, he leveled it at Beor’s forehead. “Goodbye, old friend.”


	4. Breakout

### \--︱Breakout

#### 3639 BBY

####  _Vantage_ ( _Thranta-class_ Corvette)

#### Ord Radama

Snapping into realspace, the Republic capital ship slowed to a hover in orbit around the lifeless and airless surface of the moon. _Vantage_ may not have been the largest or most heavily armed vessel in the fleet, but it was especially skilled at staying agile against its enemies. A factor that would come in handy on the mission, slipping deep behind the Sith Empire’s front line for a strike. Its vertically curved bow and cluster of powerful thrusters were a well-known profile, symbolizing the backbone of the Republic’s operations throughout known space.

Launching from the hangar bays on each side of _Vantage_ ’s hull, a handful of Rampart Mark Four bombers broke free into the void. Five wing-shaped craft, a rear-set cockpit framed by two pairs of cannons - one set ion, one set standard lasers. Taking a moment to find their bearings, the members of the 660th Bomber Squadron - better known as Starfall Squadron - coalesced again into their standard chevron formation. 

Firmly ensconced in the cockpit, Major Ryd Vipal wasn’t sure what differences the first three “marks” entailed, but assumed those were the attempted prototypes before Elsinore-Cordova Engineering rolled out the final. All he knew is that these new models were cleaner, faster, and had far more room for ordinance than the old Warcarrier bomber he used to pilot. It was nice to fly without that disconcerting rattle, smell of stale sweat and grease, or the occasional console flicker in the middle of a dangerous situation.

There was a bit of charm in all the rustic details and unexpected malfunctions though. Struggling together with his mount as he rode into battle. Then again, some actual padding in this new seat made it easy to push his nostalgia aside. Shifting the blue flightsuit fabric around his legs, Vipal settled in for what would hopefully be an eventful day.

“Starfall Leader to Starfall Squadron, report in.”

Each of them responded in order, their voices flat as they completed an administrative task. Vipal preferred it that way. Better to have a simple check in than reporting engine issues or a sensor malfunction. It saved them time and kept them responsive to any other issues that might arise.

“Move into defensive patrol Aleph, Starfall.” Captain Spogle Rean, the _Vantage_ ’s commanding officer, came over the comm. “Nice and easy.”

Beyond the cratered and barren moon, Vipal could see the curved edge of Ord Radama in the distance. On its night side, the surface was tinted violet across its massive swampland. Dark swathes were broken up by the larger urban centers and large cities, glowing orange-white in patterns of circular bands connected by straight lines for speeder trade. Coming out of hyperspace here made it more difficult to see their final destination, but it was a tactical decision. By using the moon as cover, Vantage could hide from Imperial sensors scanning the skies for just this sort of attack.

 _ << T8 = Concerned // Sensors = unknown ship incoming >> _T8-S1 warbled and beeped at him, the translated comments appearing on his console. Outside and just to the right of his cockpit, Vipal watched as the saucer-shaped head rotated to look at him. Her cyan paint scheme stood out against the goldenrod and maroon designs along the bomber’s white hull.

“I know how you feel, Tee-Eight. But that’s why I'm counting on you to keep feeding me any data you can about what we’re facing.”

His droid gave him a short whistle of acknowledgement in response. Some astromechs were known to develop colorful and rambunctious personalities, but T8 was always the consummate professional. It made the droid easy to work with, even if her improvisation was a bit rigid.

The Imperial assault transport dropped into realspace without warning, far closer than was comfortable, even if it were a Republic Cruiser. A blocky and heavily armored craft, its turbolasers rotated to search for any dangers. Unlike the drab and simple grays of most Imperial ships, however, this one was painted a deep black with vividly bright yellow patterns cutting across its surface. He was thrown by the sight, but its look was distinct enough that he assumed it was the ship they’d been expecting. If it wasn’t shooting at them yet, that was always a good sign.

A young woman wearing the Republic’s battle uniform appeared in miniature on his console. A standard issue headset wrapped around one side of her hairline to cut down on distractions during audio-only calls. “ _Vantage_ , this is Lieutenant Jorys of the _Nocturne_. We’re here and ready to assist the Six-Sixtieth with their assault.”

“Glad to see you, _Nocturne_.” Rean took the young officer’s place on the console. He was clad in the more traditional tan collared shirt of an officer. Somehow the formality of it made it seem a bit more stuffy in comparison. “Your reputation precedes you. And the ‘Six-Sixty’ usually just goes by Starfall Squadron.”

The response came from a different officer, wearing a battle uniform as well. He looked to be in his thirties with a relaxed demeanor “Starfall it is then. I’m Commander Inpost. We’re launching our fighters now, so tell your pilots to keep an eye out.”

“Roger that, _Nocturne_.” Vipal replied for all of them. 

Vipal knew the ship was supposed to hold their reinforcements, but the Sullustan still ran his knuckles across the edge of his jowly dewflaps. It was hard to kill the automatic reaction he had to the enemy ship profile. They were the same kind of ships that led the invasion of his volcanic homeworld. An invasion that had driven him to join up in the first place a decade ago.

“You must be Starfall Leader.” The new female voice was tinged with the hint of white noise that came from a cockpit. Firm and authoritative, yet kind. “Warlock Squadron will form up on your rear.”

Two fighters exited _Nocturne_ ’s underslung hangars, cruising at a steady speed. The first was one of the compact Flashfire models. Its color scheme was perfectly matched to its home ship, the yellow lines like lightning down the agile interceptor. Following just behind was a slightly larger Liberator in burgundy and dark blue. After sliding out of the hangar bay, the ship’s wings extended back from the fuselage and locked into the attack position, a cannon protruding from each side. _Warlock Leader and Warlock Two, I presume_. He thought quietly, while searching for others. Seeing none, it occurred to him that perhaps this was everyone. 

“Two fighters is a far smaller group than I’m used to calling a ‘squadron,’ but we’re happy to have the protection.” Even for his teasing tone, Vipal was sincere in his thanks. _Vantage_ had made the strategic choice to carry a purely bomber-based complement on board, rather than the typical Liberator fighters, which made them deadly to capital ships and Imperial outposts. It also left them severely lacking in starfighter combat and without an escort when out on missions.

“What we lack in numbers, we more than make up for, Starfall Leader.” Came the retort. Warlock Two, most likely, as he didn’t recognize the voice. Her confidence was a good sign, as they’d need it to make it through this mission.

“ _Nocturne_ is ready to begin the assault, _Vantage_. We’ll follow your lead and adapt formation as needed.” Inpost said firmly.

“Roger that, _Nocturne_. Shall we?” Rean gave a sharp nod, a hint of excitement in his voice. Naturally hard features from years serving in front line combat gave the Duro an intimidating demeanor, although Vipal knew it was an easily cracked façade. He was even more visually unique among most Republic officers by having an AM-7 cranial implant. The cybernetic device wrapped around the back of his skull and connected to his brain stem, allowing him to interface with the Republic network and respond faster to incoming data.

It was more of a commitment than Vipal planned to make for the Republic, that was for sure.

Slowing their grouping of single-seat fighters, the combined squadrons waited for their larger brethren to push forward around the far side of the moon. If everything went to plan, the ships were on course to settle over the capital city of New Raido. The city had taken the place of the old power center about two decades prior. There was little choice, after an Imperial dreadnaught fell during a major battle in the upper atmosphere, only to plunge into Liven Magnus. A single battle casualty had killed a hundred thousand of the residents and decimated much of the city center. Hopefully today would go a little smoother, as _Vantage_ and _Nocturne_ provided a necessary distraction. While they tried to destroy the orbital defense platforms and drew the bulk of the Imperial defenders and fire over the reportedly maze-like streets, it would clear a path for the real attack.

The little droid gave a low whistle. _ << T8 = Attack vector // Starfall + Ryd = Ready? >> _

“Getting impatient, are we? Let’s go smash some Imperials then.” Vipal chuckled. “Starfall, form up and start your attack run. Warlock, just try to keep them off of us the best you can.”

Throttling up, he took the lead for both squadrons and dove towards Ord Radama’s dark stratosphere. There would be little cover on the trip down, but they had a generally straight shot down to their target coordinates. His harness held him tightly back into the seat, reducing what he knew from experience was going to be a turbulent approach. Breaking through the upper atmosphere, the air outside began to glow bright orange. Friction from his bomber falling like a meteor. Around him, the rest of the luminous ships made it all the more dramatic.

“So, do you mind sharing why we’re bombing a prison?”

“Absolutely fair.” Warlock Leader responded. “When the Empire took Ord Radama all those years ago, they moved quickly to cement their grip on the planet. Make it harder for the Republic to find a sympathetic populace. Any dissent was punished extremely harshly to set an example for the others. As part of this strategy, they built a big prison out in the wilds. Inside, they put those they considered too seditious to be free, but too dangerous to make a martyr out of.” Above his cockpit, he saw her glowing fighter creep forward of the pack in case of defending interceptors. “The compound is built to easily stop a ground assault, perhaps shoot down a small civilian airspeeder, but not a bombing run.”

Starfall Two scoffed. Kajita Whiskal had always found joy in the absurd. Maybe it was her previous life of improvisation as a mechanic. “Because what idiot would want to bomb a prison? You’d be liable to kill the people you came to save!”

“Precisely.” Warlock Leader confirmed.

Vipal felt the air friction ease as they angled for a thick bank of clouds. “Makes sense. And taking out the power generator is going to change things on the ground?”

“As a newer facility, our intelligence sources report that they rely exclusively on ray shields as cell doors. Kill the power, and everyone goes free in an instant.”

“Devious move, Warlock. You heard the lady, Starfall, time for a jailbreak.”

_ << T8 = Detects defensive systems online >> _

He would have tightened the straps holding him in his seat if they weren’t already tight enough. “They know we’re here. Shift deflectors to full forward, and hold on tight. It might get a little bumpy.”

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth, when the clouds around them began lighting up in brilliant but deadly color. There was nothing to see outside through the thick clouds that obscured his vision, but the Imperials were trying all the same. If the odds were on the enemy’s side, a direct hit could potentially be fatal. One thick beam was close enough for Vipal to see clearly, making anxiety roil in his stomach.

Starfall Five echoed in his ear. “Doing my best to dodge, sir, but they’re really determined to take us out.”

“Keep it steady, Starfall. Almost to target.” Vipal didn’t blame his wingmate’s nervousness. It took courage to fly into fire. Flight Officer Brawt Ramley was the rookie of the group, but a good kid. A quiet one and a bit shy, but it was clear he was always listening. Trying to learn from the others and use their lessons to better his own flying.

Breaking through the cloud base, the rural wetlands spread out before them. They were far from the nearest urban center, but that was by design. To keep prisoners away from any allies and allow their Imperial jailers to see any attack coming from far off. Vipal spotted an imposing and blocky tower complex surrounded by a large wall. _That looks exactly like what I would have expected_ , he thought quietly. _Somewhere bleak enough to snatch away whatever hope was left. And in case anyone escaped, nowhere to run_.

“Contact!” Starfall Four called. Blips showed on radar at the edge of their sensors, but the group was closing fast.

“We’re on it.” Warlock Leader responded instantly, her Liberator already peeling off to engage a cluster of Imperial Mk VI fighters heading their direction. “May the Force be with you, Starfall.”

As much as he appreciated their escort, part of him was relieved when the pair from Warlock broke away. There was still a steady stream of incoming anti-aircraft fire, and there was no point risking them against anything but what they were built for - other starfighters. It also gave his team a bit more room to dodge without worrying about a collision.

He could spot their main target from here in the dim light of dawn. Fusion generators on one side of the compound glowing softly with yellow light, their distinctive cylindrical bases and funnel-like tops contrasting the sharp lines of the main building. There was a two-meter high security wall around them, but that meant nothing from the skies.

Pressing a button next to him, the rectangular targeting computer flipped out from its storage position and extended to a predetermined spot in front of Vipal’s right eye. Switching on, the screen turned the world ahead of him into vector graphics. It simplified everything into its base components, a red icon flashing as it locked onto the communications tower on the other edge of the grounds. Sometimes he wished the whole world could be so clear.

As the compound rushed closer, a black-and-yellow streak shot over his cockpit, racing him to the finish. The nimble interceptor had a serious speed advantage as it shrank in perspective ahead. Passing over the smooth walls, the fighter killed its engines and kicked on repulsors that brought it to a nearly dead stop. Strafing along the top edge of the wall, Warlock Two blew apart guard posts and sent the survivors sprinting for cover. Just a little extra chaos for the defenders to deal with. Almost as soon as she started hovering, the interceptor launched away again.

Moments later, the pilots of Starfall emptied their entire bomb bays in less than a second to tighten up the strike zone as they tore over the prison. A longer timing gap was great against an Imperial cruiser, where it was beneficial to create widespread damage. Here though, they needed to be surgical if they hoped to keep collateral damage to a minimum. It was quite the sight to see when the armed proton bombs launched from the underside of each bomber, giving off their own energetic glow as the orbs fell onto their targets. 

Vipal fought the urge to ensure the others had hit as flashes lit up the ground with crackling explosions that rocked his ship, knowing he needed to stay focused. Looking directly at the blasts would only partially blind him at a crucial time when seconds made the difference. Locking the communications array in sight, the computer trilled an excited signal to fire. Slamming on the bomb release, he felt his ship controls loosen from the sudden loss of weight. A unique feeling he could only get with atmospheric flying and planetary gravity.

Pulling sharply up and away from the target, Vipal felt the force push him deep into the padding of his seat. Kinetic waves slammed into his hull from the detonations below that set a rattle through his bones. Out the side of his cockpit, Vipal watched the firestorm swirling around the base of the communications dish. Creaking and swaying the wind, its stability began to fail under the massive damage. A horrific screeching sound of rending metal filled the valley as the supports warped and snapped. Time seemed to slow down as the dish fell sideways, crumpling under its own weight before breaking into jagged pieces as it impacted the ground.

“Now it’s all up to the prisoners.” Warlock Leader noted solemnly.

“Starfall, we’re done here. Make a full withdrawal.” Shifting his channel, he called back to Captain Rean. “ _Vantage_ , objective accomplished. Heading back your way.”

Although he tried to ignore most of the burning bolts streaking past from and off into the distance ahead, Vipal still tried to keep his position erratic. A little higher, a bit lower, drifting back and forth. Nothing that would risk colliding with one of his wingmates, but it made it a little harder for his enemies to get a clear shot.

The bomber out his right side peripheral was suddenly struck by a turbolaser blast. Along with the flash, sparks and a damaged hull panel streamed off of the wing. Luckily the hit had come after her bomb bays were empty, or shrapnel could have ended her in an instant.

Churl swore loudly over the comm. “Starfall Three is hit! Looks like they found a gap in my shields before I could shift my deflectors back.”

Vipal’s almond-shaped black eyes shifted to the pistol he had tucked into a panel on the side of his cockpit. It was an inadequate means of defense if any of them did go down. Doubly so on an Imperial world. Against a beast or enemy patrol, it would take precise shooting, and the power pack would only be useful in a purely defensive situation. Survival would depend more on evading capture, and hopefully finding friendly citizens willing to help. “What’s your status, Three?”

“I’m okay. I can lock it down for now.” The Kel Dor blew out a breath tinged with the metallic echo of her breath mask. “Got a bit of scorching on my console and some hull damage. This thing’s seen better days, but it’ll hold together.”

“Roger that.” Vipal was less worried if she claimed she could handle it. Sho Churl had enough combat experience and close calls to diagnose if she could keep in the air. He’d seen her stick a perfect landing once after losing her starboard engine to a rogue asteroid chunk. 

“This is Warlock Two. I’ll see if I can draw their fire until you get clear.” With that, the Flashfire banked hard to the left and danced away from their group, keeping her distance while appearing to be the more dynamic threat.

When she dove back towards the surface, he silently wished her luck. Transferring his weapons power into engines, Vipal felt himself sink just a tiny bit further back in his seat. It wasn’t much, but it made his trip back to the hangar that much shorter. Knowing his wingmates, they’d likely followed suit, although it was hard to tell from here.

The darkness of space was a welcome sight, signaling that they were one step closer to mission accomplished. Yawing left, Vipal led them towards the laser-spitting corvette that had become home of this long deployment. Glowing, rectangular openings in the hull were a beacon to the squadron, giving them something to aim for. _Vantage_ was still trying to swat away the last of the responding Mk VIs from the capital, and luckily none of interceptors seemed to notice the returning bombers. Letting the others land as he made one final pass, the one known as Starfall Leader ensured all of his pilots were safe before sailing through the atmospheric field and taking his place on the hangar deck.

By the time Vipal had powered down his systems and began climbing out of the cockpit, _Vantage_ had already leapt to hyperspace and escaped the system. Staring out at the steadily swirling tunnel of energy, he only hoped that _Nocturne_ had slipped away unscathed as well.

Making his way across the shining hangar plating, Vipal called out to his wingmates. “Everyone doing alright? Any injuries or issues I need to send up?”

Only Starfall Four seemed to be paying attention, breaking off to engage. Vensa Auro had removed his helmet, the Balosar’s antennapalps getting the room to extend from his scalp. “Churl seems to be fine. As fine as she normally is post-mission, at least. Don’t worry about her ship either. I’ll let the mechanics know what happened. You can head on up to the debrief.”

“Thanks Auro.”

Striding towards the hangar entrance, it was an easy trip to head to the command bridge. In total, it took him longer waiting for the turbolift between decks than actually walking. Having the hangar bays just aft of the main command deck only made things simpler. He barely got a glance and a nod from the bridge sentries, who let him pass.

Rean welcomed Vipal as he entered the bridge, motioning him over to the tactical. It doubled as the holocomm for the bridge, so it seemed a call was in the works. Not unexpected, but usually the debriefing took place without the extra technology. He assumed that meant good news for _Nocturne_.

“Where did we end up, if you don’t mind me asking?” The Sullustan inquired.

“Serenno.” Rean said casually. “Not close enough to attract the attention of the Imperial forces there, mind you. We’re on the outer edge of the system. It’ll be easier to rejoin the Hydian Way hyperlane from here, and get a straight enough path back to the fleet.”

A chime echoed through the bridge as one of the comm officers called over to them. “Call coming in from _Nocturne_ , sir!”

“Pull it up.” Rean ordered.

On the far side of the table, the two officers from earlier materialized in full-size. Lieutenant Jorys and Commander Inpost, if he wasn’t mistaken. They stood at parade rest, which was the go-to way to start most calls in the military. From the smiles on their faces, the mission was a rousing success for them as well.

“ _Vantage_ , we’re just made it to the rendezvous point.” Inpost announced.

Rean gave him an approving nod. “Glad to hear you made it out safely, Commander.”

“All targets destroyed?”

“That’s affirmative.” Vipal confirmed. “Both main and secondary objectives were accomplished, and Starfall didn’t take any casualties in the operation.”

Between the two holograms, a third figure shifted into view. A woman with dark hair and dressed like she came directly from the cockpit. “Excellent news. No casualties on our side either.”

“Warlock Leader.” Vipal noticed that alongside the woman’s standard red flightsuit, she had a metal tube dangling from her belt. He knew the shape well enough to identify where she came from. “Thank you for the escort, Warlock. I wish I had known that I was flying alongside a Jedi.”

She waved him off. “Lieutenant Ibri is the real skill in the cockpit. And I guess we never had a real chance to introduce ourselves. I’m Master Loke Sanna.”

“Major Ryd Vipal.” He reciprocated.

“It was an honor to fly alongside you and the Six-Sixty, Major.” Loke said kindly. “They performed with incredible skill and accuracy. Freeing those prisoners might have been the spark Ord Radama needed to grow the resistance and liberate itself from Imperial control. You should be proud."

Rean cut in confidently. "We're definitely proud of our results, and I look forward to seeing what reporting comes out from SIS over the next few weeks."

"If you ever need assistance in the future, please don’t hesitate to contact _Nocturne_.”

Vipal hoped to get in the last word though. “Before you go, Master Jedi. When we’re not on mission, I like to take Starfall out near the Metharian Nebula. There’s a debris field of old, shattered ships from the Mandalorian War out there. It’s a great place to practice maneuvers and attack runs against ghost ships. An oddly beautiful and peaceful place, even for the graveyard around you.” He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “If we can coordinate, Warlock Squadron is welcome to come train with us sometime.”

She gave him a growing nod in response. “I’d like that. May the Force be with you.”

Commander Inpost saluted in the center. “Stay safe Vantage. _Nocturne_ out.”

As their holograms evaporated, Vipal quietly chuckled to himself. Formerly Imperial ships, two-woman squadrons, and bombing a prison. This was far from a typical bombing run, but a bit of ingenuity might just be what won this war. Watching _Nocturne_ jump away into Hyperspace, he turned to head back to his own squadron’s debriefing room.


	5. Disruption

### \--︱Disruption

#### 3639 BBY

#### Cormond

#### Brentaal IV

A light breeze blew between the buildings and across the spraying fountains dancing in their specially built water feature, making things far more comfortable than they’d been during the day. Just enough to be refreshing without feeling like there was a coming storm. It brought the sound of the nearby lounge’s music, a brassy tune accompanied by soulful vocals. A popular but dated piece about moving on from lost love, lamenting what could have been.

This little hideaway was known as _Cin Vhetin_. It was a smaller cantina with a bustling outdoor bar area once evening came. And how could it not? There was comfortable seating, a quiet atmosphere, and a stunning view of the Cormond’s glittering lights. Giant towers sprouted from the ground around this place like the trees on Kashyyyk, soaring upward through low clouds and into the skies. The architecture was functional and stark with an organic-looking flair. Unique in style, it had an odd and renowned beauty to those from worlds with far more industrial or standardized city planning. Now and then a larger ship would lumber through the gaps, on its way to land at the spaceport with running lights on for safety.

Skyp Mourgil took a moment to just enjoy the evening as they looked to the skies. It was hard to find a better view. Most of the heavens were dominated by the nearby violet colored Ringali Nebula. A beautiful maelstrom of gases and dust that swirled endlessly above. The planet’s two moons hung in closer proximity from this perspective, one showing as more of a crescent at the moment. This location was what made the planet so desirable - it occupied one of the most valuable positions in the galaxy—the intersection of the Perlemian and the Hydian Way, two of the Galaxy's major hyperlanes.

Transferring here hadn’t been unpleasant. The planet's weather was largely warm, arid, and temperate. Most of the settlements and cities were located at a distance from one another, positioned in the valleys, canyons, and deltas between the equator and polar ice caps. Skyp had never traveled to the more equatorial bands but had heard it was mainly deserts and steaming oceans. Not a place most any species chose to live.

As for the capital itself, Cormond was in the best location available - right on the coast of the Suporro Sea near the Gravaal Mountains. An ideal place to run the planetary government, maintain a solid nightlife, provide fresh water to the locals, and more than ample opportunities for recreation. Surprisingly, the most famous landmark in this city was the Trade Hall. It was well known as the center of Brentaal's commercial and governmental interests, only confirming the greatest priority amongst those that lived here. Shipping, trade, and the flow of goods is what had established this planet’s prominence, and it would be what allowed it to flourish for centuries to come. Even the local government had deep ties to the major shipping families.

Skyp took another sip of the Ansionian tea, enjoying its sweet tang. Brentaal was primarily populated by Humans, but as a near-human, Skyp blended in well enough. Kiffar looked nearly identical, save for their _qukuuf_ , or facial markings. Thin tattooed lines that denoted ones’ clan back on Kiffu. Plenty of people had facial markings, and a few red marks weren’t nearly as noticeable as the ones on a horned Zabrak or green-skinned Mirialan.

Their attention slipped to the rhythmic flow of speeder traffic in the distance. Not like it was their face that usually got the most attention, but the vibrant patterns and loud fashions they typically wore. It was fun, flashy, and usually disarming. They’d been asked more than once if they were some sort of entertainer. No one would have ever guessed they secretly worked for the Strategic Information Service - the SIS - and Skyp took pride in it. Their outfit was fashionable and bold, utilizing bright colors with edgier design. A style that fit them and their personality while also allowing them to hide in plain sight. The SIS leadership wouldn't approve, but many of them were stuck in the military mindset of drab and regimented rules.

“How’s it going over here? Need a Tarisian Ale or maybe a double of dorian quill?” The warm voice came from the owner on the other side of the bar. Dav Baseheart was a human in his late forties, usually with a relaxed disposition and a smile. Few people actually used his full name, calling him simply ‘Base’ instead. According to poorly kept secrets, he had a whole other life of adventure before retiring to open this place up. Most revolved around his time in the Republic military, and some even claimed he was a decorated hero from the last war. 

Skyp replied graciously. “No, thank you. I’m honestly fine with just the tea for now. I’d love a proper drink, but I need to stay alert and focused tonight.”

“Well, the tea is on the house then. As much as you’d like. Least I can do to show my gratitude for your work and picking my place to do it.” Base’s graciousness and hospitality was part of what made this the best spot on the whole planet. And Skyp had no doubt the food here would be incredible. Brentaal generally had an amazing selection of high-quality cuisine after thousands of years of interaction with the countless species and cultures that passed through.

“You’ve got a hell of a location, quality drinks, and attentive service. That’s better than most places in this district.” Skyp laughed. “I’m well aware of your usual tricks though. Rumor has it you’ve been out of the game for a bit, and I understand you living vicariously through others’ stories. It doesn’t mean I can give you any more information on why I’m loitering in your bar, but I do appreciate it.”

“Take all the time you need. I’m happy to have you and anyone else helping to maintain peace within the Republic.”

The Kiffar eyed him with curiosity. “You know, I meant to ask. Where did the name for this place even come from? Someone I asked said they thought it was Mando’a.”

A smirk formed at the corner of Baseheart’s mouth, yet his eyes remained serious. “Means ‘ _Clean Slate_.’ It’s a sort of nod of respect to some old enemies. Never forget that no matter the conflict, people are people and fighting for their own reasons.” A bit nostalgic, the man walked off with a glass in his hand. Well, if nothing else, somehow Skyp felt that the rumors were confirmed. It also made them realize that if pushed to use that old blaster carbine hidden behind the bar, the man would be more than capable of handling a threat.

Skyp suddenly wondered if that threat would come anywhere near this place. They’d originally been assigned to Brentaal IV to investigate attacks by people claiming to be the Revolutionary Edge Brigade, an anarchist-inspired group. ‘Allegedly’ was the keyword though, as the group wasn’t supposed to even exist. The Brigade had been prevalent on the planet for years, responsible for a string of high-profile corporate kidnappings, bank robberies, and blowing up symbolic targets like holorelays. Although there were a few casualties, the group’s focus was damaging structures and forcing chaos on a supposedly docile populace. But that had all ended a couple years ago when their leader, a badly scarred human known as ‘The Wheezer,’ had been killed on Nal Hutta. Supposedly a meeting of the group’s dozen or so members had gone awry, and all of them were wiped out in one fell swoop.

But now a new group had risen, potential copycats calling themselves the ‘True Revolutionary Edge.’ Alongside the announcement of carrying on the group’s ideals, attacks had surged across Cormond. Everything was different though. They were sloppy with their tactics and had already killed dozens of people in bomb attacks that targeted banks and crowded public areas frequented by non-humans. That last part was especially out of character, as most of the identified members of the group were non-humans themselves.

The strategic change couldn’t have been a coincidence. Skyp theorized that the group truly had been wiped out, as none of the remaining members would have condoned these specific attacks. It’s what had drawn the operative deeper into focusing on the motivations behind it. The previous plots were terrible and violent, but had a goal. This was just brutality and fear, and Skyp always had a soft spot for protecting the downtrodden and oppressed.

They glanced around at the handful of patrons taking long draws on water pipes, clouds of smoke billowing from their lips as they chatted with friends, casually ate, or watched one of the screens showing swoop races. In choosing a spot to stage before tonight’s operation though, Skyp only had one place in mind. Somewhere that both appealed to their fun-loving side, while also run by an owner that was always supportive of Republic operations and trying to make Brentaal a better place for everyone.

A sharp eye and the most direct line-of-sight to the street finally paid off when the hooded figure wearing black and red crept past. Skyp tried to contain their sudden spike of excitement. Amusement danced through their nerves to see they were right - all members wore the distinct colors in solidarity with the cause as a sort of uniform. Skyp was delighted to see this new group had made it easier to track the terrorists as they watched the man hurry off.

“Hudds, I spotted our mean man outside Cin Vhetin.” Skyp commented quietly, knowing the comm on their wrist would pick it up. “You ready to stop some mass murder?”

There was a touch of mirth in the voice on the other end at Skyp’s phrasing. “Copy. I’m in position.” 

Slipping off of their stool, Skyp still left a few credits for Base. As kind and supportive as the man was, it seemed the right thing to do. Heading through the tables to the street, the agent slowed their pace to let their target slip around the corner. Not too much hesitation though, as losing this guy could be catastrophic to preventing future attacks.

Streets and pedestrian walkways were busy on such a clear and beautiful night. Groups were out for evening strolls, heading to dinner, or just enjoying the nice weather. Skyp used it to their advantage, slipping near clusters and trying to blend in a little to keep from being noticed. Few people even seemed to notice their presence, more focused on conversations and assuming the newcomer was just in a hurry. 

Smells of sweet concoctions and freshly grilled medleys wafted from the storefronts of open restaurants, making Skyp question whether they should have grabbed some food when Base had offered. Landspeeders hovered past at a leisurely pace and stopped to allow pedestrians on both sides to pass. The agent used it as an opportunity to cross and get into a better position. Most of the shops were still open but were likely finishing up the last sales of the night so the owners could also head out before it got too late.

A group of families sat in a small park just off of the path, parents relaxing on benches while their children played with model speeders and chased each other around in a garble of high-pitched voices and laughing screams. The sight only steeled Skyp’s resolve to end this as quickly and peacefully as possible. If one of these children was killed by the attack when the perpetrator was within reach, they’d never forgive themselves.

"Objective complete. You're free to do your thing." Hudds confirmed over the comm.

Seeing the man break away from the walkway and into the shadows, Skyp followed. It only confirmed their suspicion that the man wouldn’t want to risk something going wrong by taking too much time or moving too far away from the target. Still, Skyp slowed to a cautious creep as they reached the corner, one hand moving to the grip of their blaster.

In the secluded alley, the hooded figure was bent over and fiddling with some kind of device. Skyp wasn’t about to let him finish whatever he was working on. Surging forward, they used their shoulder to check the suspect into the wall. It was an inelegant move, but effective enough. As he stumbled, the man’s blaster pistol clattered to the ground. 

The agent leveled their weapon at the man’s back. “SIS! Drop what you’re holding and surrender.”

Pulling a thin device, the man turned and held it out threateningly. It didn’t take an expert to recognize it as a remote detonator. “You’re too late! Back off, or their blood is on your hands.”

“You’re the one threatening to set off a bomb.” Skyp countered. “The choice is literally in your hands. Is this really how you want this to go?”

His eyes, the only visible part of his face, seemed to smile. His thumb slammed down decisively on the detonation switch. When there was only the low hum of the city in the aftermath, he hit it again. And again. Still, there was no explosion.

“Disablers are the worst. Always shorting out sensitive components and making it hard to kill a bunch of people” They quipped.

“You slimy Huttspawn.”

As the man glanced at his fallen blaster, Skyp was firm. “Don’t try it. Hands up and mask off.”

After a long moment of hesitation, the man pulled down the cloth and raised his hands. Underneath was a bald human with a dark goatee. His eyes glowered across the space between them as he considered his situation. It all seemed very familiar.

“Wait, I know your face. You’re one of the officers from the Brentaal Security Forces! You were at the briefing on investigating these attacks! Your whole job is supporting and protecting this city. Somehow you don’t seem the type to be all for anarchy.”

“I know who you are too, Kiffar. Big agent trying to take down a righteous cause. It doesn’t matter what you think or even what evidence you have. You have no authority here. I’ll be back on the job in a couple weeks.” 

“But why? Why bomb your own city? Kill all those people? This clearly isn’t for the cause you’re advertising.”

He smiled bitterly, biting out the words. “Law and order. Every day we go out there into the streets and neighborhoods to take on those animals. There’s no respect for the law anymore. Fighting those Imperials has everyone getting anti-human sentiment. All these refugees pour in from the Outer Rim, just to live in poverty and contribute to the criminal underworld. Questioning our authority and judging every little thing that we do. They’re trying to force us out or get us fired for speaking our mind.”

Skyp scoffed. “You mean when you say xenophobic things or target them for how they look? You’re not getting sympathy from me.”

“We helped-” He corrected himself. “ _I_ helped remind those aliens that they should know their place. That without humans protecting this planet, there’s a lot of scary things in this Galaxy. A few non-human deaths will help us get the support we need to push all these alien criminals offworld.”

“The only threat to Brentaal is the criminal standing in front of me. A terrorist who’s attacking the Republic to spread hate. It’s a special level of joy to know that I get to help put you in prison.”

“Don’t celebrate yet. You may think you look human, but I know you’re just like them. The real humans are on my side.”

Heavy bootfalls were coming their way, which gave Skyp a bit of relief. Reinforcements were right on time. “Keep thinking that. Hands behind your back.”

Silhouettes danced as the backlit group rushed up from behind Skyp, their carbines at the ready. These SIS Agents were better armed and wore pieces of blaster-resistant armor as a contingency. Better to prepare for the worst, in case the suspect had tried to shoot it out before being captured. This team was only here for the single operation, having flown in from Chandrila the day before to assist. Two of them moved to each side of the bound man, checking him for any hidden weapons or explosives.

“Looks like we’re clear for transport.” One of them announced, taking the bomber by the arm. “We’re headed to the extraction point. Once the prisoner is secure and ready for interrogation, we’ll let you know.”

“Excellent news.” Skyp said, watching the man that had betrayed his people locked in binders and escorted by a phalanx of SIS. It was a wonderful sight after all that had been inflicted on this city over the past months.

Agent Dinash Hudds sauntered up to the scene as the others led the prisoner away and out of sight. With the mission complete, there was no rush as she drew even with Skyp’s shoulder. “Look at you, taking down a terrorist all by yourself.”

“Stop. No.” They waved the woman off. “I mean, you shut down a bomb, so we can call it a team effort.”

“I’ll remember that next time.” She chuckled.

“Somehow stopping a plot has me a bit hungry. Dinner after this? Maybe we can invite the guys?”

“Only if we can go to-” Blasterfire echoed between the buildings, and Hudds spun to look back down the street. “That’s not good.”

Skyp brought the wristcomm near their face. "Besh Team, report! What happened?"

Unsure and out of breath, the agent on the other end tried to remain professional. “The prisoner attacked us and went for my sidearm. There was a struggle, and the subject was struck by fire. Agent Uwel is trying to render medical aid now.” There was a pause that felt like an eternity. “Negative, Mourgil, subject is deceased.”

 _Dead_. Skyp wanted to scream. All of that work, and their only lead towards uncovering all of the revitalized group’s secrets was gone in an instant. The man deserved to be put on trial and have justice punish him with prison. Being killed before he saw the inside of a cell seemed like he got off far easier than all those maimed by his attacks. People who would have to live the rest of their lives with his crimes.

Hudds sighed and attempted to be optimistic. “Well, at least we caught the guy behind this. Stopped him from carrying out any more attacks. We should be proud of what we’ve accomplished.”

Skyp shook their head. “We caught one, but how many more are still out there, using their authority to get away with murder?”


	6. The Nazwa Classic

### \--︱The Nazwa Classic

#### 3639 BBY

#### Baroo

#### Baroonda

Avoiding the patches of deep mud, M2-D7 tried not to get the boggy water and thick muck wedged into the gaps around his feet. Too much could affect his mobility and take serious cleaning to clear out. Taking the rockier path, the droid moved around the half buried head of an ancient stone statue sticking out of the ground from centuries of slow descent into the swampy land. Some sort of humanoid species, although his databanks couldn’t identify which one with the artistic style.

Around him were thick trunked and towering trees, their roots like the spindly legs of a makrin perched over the remains of old temples and buildings. They stretched high above the droid’s head into an emerald canopy of overlapping leaves that shifted and waved in the light breeze. It cast dark shadows in places where the light couldn’t fully penetrate. The typical sounds of the forest, however, had been replaced by the growl of engines and din of thousands of conversations.

Today was a unique day - the swoop racing event known as The Nazwa Classic. After a decline in popularity following the destruction of Taris, the sport had found a resurgence in the post-war peace a decade ago. It had general appeal, even on planets where swoops had been banned. High stakes, racing celebrities to root for and follow, a chance at riches through betting on races, and the dangerous excitement of close-shave maneuver through the courses. And now that war had returned to the Galaxy, it provided an escape from the constant anxiety that accompanied the news.

Although the first semi-official swoop event on Baroonda, its racing history stretched back into antiquity. Originally the mounts were domesticated beasts bred and trained for speed as they held both short distance sprint races and longer courses that wound through the forests, across the beaches, and up the sides of the still active volcanoes. But swoops were far from these antiquated mounts. More than just speeder bikes, swoops were far simpler constructions that focused their builds around powerful engines with basic controls and a seat strapped on for the pilot. Some of the fastest and best known racers usually had short careers - either from slamming into an obstacle at high speed or becoming a fireball when their engines overloaded.

Much like those old races, there were a handful of different events that allowed for both the original straight-track timed heats and longer head-to-head races. The latter ones used hoop gates with transmitters that ensured racers didn’t stray too far from the designated course. A precaution that couldn’t guarantee none of the teams might try to cheat the system, but it was the best they could do to discourage it. 

Officially this area was listed as still part of the capital of Baroo, but technically the city itself was built high on a mountainous plateau above them. Bridges spanned the gaps over the surrounding canyons. A strategic position that allowed for a view of the surrounding countryside and provided for the defense of the city itself against ground forces from a time before speeders and spaceflight. Baroo’s varied tan stone buildings were built on the ruins of an extinct civilization called the Nazwa that died out long before the first foundation was poured for the current inhabitants. Some of the crumbled remnants remained on the outskirts of town or as half-collapsed structures that provided a ghostly reminder of the past. Either way, M2 felt it was an inefficient method of city planning.

M2 scanned the stands, already packed with spectators, and noted that building them on such unstable soil was unwise. Permits for such a structure would never be approved under Republic regulations, although most things about this swoop racing business appeared to be dubiously legal. Even the rudimentary engineering programming that Jae installed was enough to make that assessment. Jae had insisted on a range of basic skill programs so he would have a well-rounded skill set, and he made modifications as he saw fit. Part of her philosophy of giving him as much free will as possible. Only his military combat protocols were part of his core functions. A lingering reminder of his original purpose - an infantry droid built for combat support.

A shadow briefly darkened this section of the track, blocking what sunlight was making its way through the leaves. M2 looked to the skies in response, spotting a giant Hutt-modeled pleasure barge lazily hovering along its meandering course over the festivities. It held most of the wealthy and powerful patrons, allowing them to relax in luxurious surroundings. Their position, both literal and metaphorical, was above all the racers and common citizens. Their altitude and the array of high-quality screens would give them an excellent view of the action.

Interestingly enough, the barge wasn’t owned by a Hutt at all. Instead, it was the property of the Arkanian tycoon Mureth Gorvisca. Gorvisca primarily lived in a palatial villa near the city center. According to Holonet records, Gorvisca had moved from his far cooler homeworld to buy up properties all over Baroo. Depending on the source, these actions were either by a monster ruining the local culture or skilled business acumen to be admired. Emtoo assessed the truth as neither of these options. The man had used his fortune to help finance this race while claiming it would bring tourism and investment. Perhaps that was true, but based on how popular it was in other sectors, those credits would be more from underground betting than real estate.

Pushing a curtain of hanging vines out of the way, M2 moved into the cool stone alcove designated by the authorities for his team. Repurposing what was once something grand and sacred into a temporary garage. An array of generator-fed lamps gave them the light they needed to work. At the moment, a small Ortolan and his Mirialan friend were in a heated debate around the partially disassembled swoop that filled most of the space. No one even looked up as he stopped and stood silently listening. M2 found long ago that organics rarely acknowledged his presence verbally, but they were not unaware of his arrival. It was common across the Galaxy, as droids were usually seen as constructed tools and property rather than equal citizens.

“Why is the port thruster disassembled? There’s not much time until you need to be out there on the starting line.”

Jae had cut her hair into a far shorter hairstyle since beginning this racing circuit a few months earlier, close cropped on the sides and longer on top. M2 assumed it was some sort of aesthetic choice, but Jae insisted that the reason was pragmatic. That she was looking for a change and that it fit better under the racing helmet. “Have you seen this thing? It’s ancient, and I’m not going out there until I know this turbothrust convertor coil isn’t going to shatter mid-boost. Where did you buy this thing again?”

Adogeego shrugged. “It was an impulse purchase from an auction on Manaan. Sure, it’s an older model, but it’s got charm.”

Jae huffed as she shoved the hydrospanner back in the opening. “Less charming if I’m scattered across the forest.”

“No need to be so dramatic. It’ll be fine.”

The swoop itself was an older model - a Lhosan Industries Daggerstar III based on M2’s memory - that was likely seventy to eighty years old at this point. Two barrel engines with wide thruster openings connected to a pair of knife-shaped stabilizers stabbing forward. In between all this was a round cockpit with just enough room for the controls and a pilot’s seat. Painted with ostentatious orange-and-red flames running down each side, the decoration was topped off with a caricature of a Kowakian monkey-lizard under the windscreen. Based on a popular model from the old Tarsian circuits, the updated version was still subpar in the turns, but made up for it with power and speed. Adogeego had assured Jae not to judge the swoop by its looks, as it was heavily upgraded over the years by its previous owners.

“Not dramatic, just paranoid.” She sat back and wiped her hands on a rag. “Only way I’ll get in the cockpit of this thing is I can vouch personally that it’s up to my standards. Not about to trust some stranger or cheap pit droid.”

The small blue alien let out a chuckle. “Your thoroughness was part of why I asked you to race for me. Well, and I know you’re willing to take the risk. And you won’t try and betray me.” She scratched one of her long ears. “And you’re actually tall enough to see over the controls.”

M2 noted, not for the first time, that they put a strange amount of trust into the small Ortolan with so many dangerous ideas. Bounty hunting, smuggling spice and rare jewels, blindfolded target practice after drinking, swoop racing, high stakes Pazaak, investments in Outer Rim mining colonies… If Jae was willing to trust her though, M2 would as well. Even though she claimed they were equals, the droid still saw Jae as his creator in a way.

Giving the pair distance was an older man with a beard and dressed like many of the spacers milling about the crowd outside. His dark hair was streaked with gray patches as he turned away and watched the festivities take shape. Although he went by the name ‘Sungwa,’ M2 assumed that this was not the man’s official name, as the sungwa were a type of pack predator native to the Bogden System. He made a note to run an analysis on how many of Jae’s friends utilized alternative or colorful names, as the statistics appear higher than expected. This was the one Jae had designated as her current boyfriend, although she maintained her partnership with Master Blackstar. An arrangement M2 did not fully understand, but organic behaviors could be nearly indecipherable sometimes.

Moving closer, M2 joined Sungwa near the edge and examined each of the other racers’ makeshift camps. Most of them were arrayed around the raised, rocky ground at the base of the mountain, although sensors showed the humidity in the air was thick down here.

"So…" The human began, "are you enjoying the racing experience so far?"

M2 was matter-of-fact. "Negative. My defensive protocols are increased by thirty-four point three percent upon identifying a Sith racer and multiple Imperial military officers on the track. Jae must be protected from any hostile action." He focused his photoreceptor on the angular faced racer surrounded by uniformed sycophants.

"Akthon Rhal? Sure, the guy looks scary, but word is that he can't do any of that dark magic the rest of his species seems born with. Instead, he turned out to be some bored playboy. Pretty sure he only races because he has those officers from the upper echelons fawning over him and paying for everything." Sungwa pointed across the way. "No, the guy to beat is Tik Cin Meedah. Czerka Corp is backing the Vultan, and he's the defending Calaron Sector Champion."

"Don't count the Aleena out. Rumor has it he's the dark blurrg in this one." Adogeego had appeared next to M2's leg.

M2 responded automatically. "Bonchou Olken. Sponsored by GSI. The Aleena culture does encourage risk-taking."

She chuckled. "At least one of us downloaded the event details. He's a no name here, but word is that he's been tearing up tracks in the Outer Rim. Built that Kukri AN-21 by himself and is his own mechanic. Odd design though - like an ancient chariot, but with only an energy binder holding his engines…"

A roar came from behind them before the swoop hovered out of the bay with its cockpit open. Jae didn’t have her helmet on yet as she yelled over the powerful growl reverberating through her craft. “I gotta go now if I’m going to make it to my heat on time! Be back in a bit!” With that, she opened up the throttle to a general cruising speed and left a misty wake through the swamps on her path to the main straightaway on the beach. Although she had a record of being impeccably punctual for most appointments and events, M2 frequently found the odds of success more than unlikely with how last minute Jae’s departures tended to be.

As the noise faded, it went back to its somewhat quieter mix of voices, the whine of tools, and the sound of the breeze. M2 also detected the warbling repulsors of the numerous holocamera drones buzzing around the area with their avian-like flight patterns. A way to record everything and shift to catch any exciting action the moment it happened. The unarmed synthetic army of the famous holofilm maker Ehrnis Loong. An expensive but reliable investment, considering his body of work.

As the cheers erupted from all over the swamp, city center, and mountainside, Gorvisca’s face materialized on a dozen viewscreens broadcasting the race. Pale skinned with blank white eyes and hair, his appearance was more unsettlingly monochrome. Coming from genetically engineered people, however, most Arkanians were born with aesthetically pleasing faces and especially high intelligence. Many considered themselves the pinnacle of biological evolution, which came with a cultural entitlement. Raising his arms to settle the crowds only pushed back his patterned cerulean cape from the well-tailored dreamsilk tunic underneath. 

A tight-lipped smile looked more sly than happy on his face, a show of control while appearing pleased. “Welcome to our teams of incredibly talented racers, the wonderful people of Baroonda, and to you out there, the unbelievably supportive fans that make races like this a reality. Our morning heats have been heart-pounding and shown some unbelievable skill.” He gestured his four-fingered hand off at the power players that stayed back while making their presence known. Drooga the Hutt was recognizable enough with the interface mounted in front of his eye, representing the Cartel’s interests. One of the insectoid Colicoids from their Creation Nest that sold technology and weapons to both factions in the war was present as well, although M2 wasn’t programmed to differentiate individuals of their species. Further back hovered a Toydarian noble and a cluster of well-dressed humans. “Swoop racing is a glorious pastime, and I’m personally honored we were able to bring it to such a beautiful world like Baroonda. That’s all thanks to King Liventaal and the Majan people for hosting this event. Your Majesty, would you like to say a few words?”

On cue, the camera’s focus moved to a new subject. The monarch in colorful robes with a massive, golden headdress was the polar opposite of the Arkanian. His tanned skin and dark eyes glowed warmly as he looked out on the crowds seated in the city’s grandstands. Considered Near-Human, the only difference between the species were the Majan’s triple lobed ears. “It’s a pleasure to have all of these guests visiting and seeing for themselves the wonders our planet has to offer. This event marks a new and exciting chapter in our history, a revitalization of our ancient racing traditions. May these events carry on for centuries to come!”

“Best of luck to all the racers. Remember: To the winner goes our grand prize of ten thousand credits and the title of Nazwa Classic Champion!”

A human wearing a fancy double-breasted coat with trimmed designs dancing across the fabric rushed over to M2 and the others. A thick, long braid down the man’s back swung like a tail as he approached. Flanked by a hovering holocamera drone, it flew around him and constantly shifted in an algorithm that predicted the best angle for recording any action. Ehrnis Loong himself, if M2’s facial records were correct. Supposedly he made a name for himself on Nar Shaddaa, providing coverage of fashion events, Huttball matches, and high-profile parties.

“Is Jae Doraan still here? Any chance she’d be open to an interview?”

Adogeego shook her head. “She’s already left for her race. Can your questions wait? I’m sure she'll be open to it when she gets back.”

The man looked surprised. “Damn. I mostly wanted to get her reaction to the news rocking the race track. Apparently Tik Cin Meedah was injured in a pretty vicious attack and they had to rush him back to the city for medical care. I wanted to find out what the racers-”

But M2 didn’t stick around to hear the rest of his explanation. If one racer had been injured, then Jae was likely in grave danger. He knew that Sith couldn't be trusted, and he'd shown his true nature of deceit and violence. Striding across the solid footpath between the temporary bays, he ran directly for the one owned by Czerka Corporation. If Meedah really had been injured, his racer was likely still parked inside and without a rider. Logically it would be the fastest way to catch up with Jae and warn her before it was too late.

Czerka’s swoop entry was smaller and sleeker than the one Jae piloted. More of a speeder bike style - if most of the vehicle were made of a massively powerful engine. Green and gold down the sides, the intake was split in two down the middle, creating elongated semi-circles. Behind these was a thick, round exhaust that put out dangerous levels of acceleration just underneath its rider. An austere seat, heel based throttle pedals, and handlebar controls were simplistic and easy enough to understand. M2 activated his specific piloting protocols to enhance reaction times over other non-priority functions.

It started with only the push of a button, filling the garage area with the thundering whirr of the machine beneath him fighting its purpose of rocketing away. None of the ground crew, managers, or mechanics were currently around. More than likely they were attending to their injured comrade or checking up on his condition. It simplified things for M2, as there was no need to commit necessary assault to borrow the vehicle.

M2 could never have prepared for the initial burst as the swoop exploded forward with overwhelming speed. Blowing out of the main doors, he barely dodged the statue head from earlier. His processors had to work at full capacity to compensate and adjust accordingly. Straightening out, he opened up the throttle fully, the swamp around him blurring from the sheer inertia and sending out a trail of dirty water, algae and mud spatter in his wake.

Vines hung in rope-like strands from the branches high above and gnarled roots the size of full-grown trees were everywhere. It took split-second decision making to weave between them without crashing. Most of the local fauna had fled the area at the sound of approaching engines, but a few creatures took frantic flight as he streaked past. Sounds echoed off of the trees and back at him, a dozen variations on the noise of his passage.

Boosting at full speed had its downsides, however. The temperature gauge was already rapidly climbing towards the danger zone, the initial warning light blinking in protest. Even once the beeping started to indicate his overstress of the engine, M2 pressed onward. Most systems were programmed for a warning far before serious and lasting damage was done. He estimated he had at least another ten seconds before it became too detrimental. His sensors were already noting a major heat spike that would have created light burns on the fragile skin of most organics.

Near the edge of the swamp’s treeline was a rapidly approaching boulder with an adequate smooth surface and angled in his favor. Shifting his course ever so slightly, the swoop’s repulsors used the natural ramp to clear the thicket. Flying through the air, M2 found himself clear of the thick trees before landing on the sandy beach of the coast. More ruins lay askew across this unstable surface, and M2 further questioned the original builders.

Thrusters ahead burned bright, even in the daytime, as Jae’s swoop headed for the finish line. M2 drifted the wayward vehicle beneath him to give chase as he leaned lower to reduce the drag on his airflow. He had let off the boost after the jump, and didn’t risk it further on his run down the beach.

Crossing the finish line ahead, Jae’s Daggerstar let off its acceleration and began slowing down to check her times. M2 wasn’t far behind, shooting across the line and fully engaging the airbrakes. Such a maneuver would have been catastrophic to most riders, causing dizziness and nausea. M2 barely noticed, as he didn’t have a stomach or sensitive brain to lose balance so easily.

Sliding down the wing, Jae half turned back to hurl her helmet into the empty seat. "Emtoo!? What the hell are you doing here? And where did you get that swoop from?"

"There was an incident. I had concerns you may be in danger."

She glanced around before pointing at herself. "I'm fine! Run went great and there were no warning lights or faults. Really I think that's because I triple checked everything."

"But that Sith is here."

"Rhal? Why would he he care about anything but the fangirls looking to give him a good-"

An airspeeder came in low over the trees and shook a shower of leaves free as it landed on the beach. A large Czerka logo dominated the dorsal fin. Before the engines could even begin to wind down, the ramp was already swinging open.

Clad in a sharp looking suit and red with anger, the executive sponsor for the team stomped towards them while ignoring the wet sand on his expensive shoes. “You! Someone arrest that droid!”

A meek looking technician in Czerka colors stumbled in the uneven soil as they hurried to intercept their boss. “Excuse me, sir, but based on our current projections…”

“Spit it out!”

“Well, the droid just beat the current track record with that run.”

The man's face slackened at the news as he chewed this new information over. “Are you serious? Well- No. Yes?" He straightened and focused on Jae. "A new proposition for you and your droid. Czerka Corporation won’t press charges if you return our proprietary swoop immediately. That includes the diagnostic data contained within.”

“This deal is acceptable. You may retrieve the craft at your leisure.” M2 said flatly. “My need for its speed ended once I ensured Jae was alright. After the attack on your racer, I had concerns she might be next.”

Adogeego pushed past them as she arrived on scene and motioned for calm. “No need to worry, big guy. Turns out it was Lyrn from the Blatant Beks that ended up attacking Meedah. That Feeorin has a quick-temper, and must have thought a few solid punches would lessen the competition from the reigning champion. It’s all been taken care of though. The Klatooninian racer from the Hutt Cartel team subdued him before security took him into custody.”

“That is comforting to hear. Thank you for the update.”

With his anger flagging and the swoop assumedly back in his company’s possession, the executive waved a dismissive hand at them and headed back to his speeder. Adogeego seemed genuinely mirthful about the whole situation, likely because Jae was well. Or was it because he had accidentally won the race?

“Did I somehow outplace Jae while hurrying to save her?”

The Ortolan laughed. “Nah. You might hold the current track record, but droids aren’t allowed to race, so you were automatically disqualified. On the bright side, I think Jae was the one in second for the solo runs, so we’re still doing pretty well. Even better with two more racers unable to compete.”

“Kriff me, today’s taken quite the strange turn.” Jae commented as she glanced back at the still idling racer. “I need a drink.”

Adogeego spread her hands in a carefree gesture. “This has been exciting, don’t you think? Czerka got their data, you’re currently in the lead, and no one got arrested. Let’s take my swoop back to the garage, and then the first round in Baroo is on me.”

Jae chuckled quietly before looking at M2. She still seemed a bit on edge, but her expression was one of love. “Race you there?”


	7. Solitude

### \--︱Solitude

#### 3639 BBY

####  _Echo Runner_

#### Darpa Sector

Suspended in the swirling cerulean tunnel of hyperspace, the small vessel cruised in a peaceful pocket away from the violence and unpredictability of the Galaxy. Light shifted and danced across its faded crimson paint and darker grays of the weathered hull plating. Officially, _Echo Runner_ was classified as a civilian support craft, a hybrid between a shuttle and a light transport that was originally built for local governments rather than the Republic military. Something cheap and versatile to handle a wide variety of tasks. Most of them were actually used for medical transport, serving as interplanetary ambulances to get injured and sick patients from wilderness worlds to better equipped hospitals or medical frigates.

It wasn’t a stretch to say that most features on the ship were mediocre and unobtrusively adequate. Powered by a pair of ion drive engines originally designed for military shuttles, it was nice to see that the ship had above average acceleration and maneuverability. Although it had a hyperdrive, the limited fuel reserve and extremely limited living space meant that it wasn’t built for long-distance travel. Not that such trips hadn’t been attempted by more adventurous spacers over the years. Even the weapons systems consisted of a single pair of laser cannons built into the nose for defense. Nothing compared to a starfighter or scout ship, but it was reliable enough.

 _Ascension_ , Ashnox Blackstar thought with both frustration and amusement, _it is not_.

The Jedi Master sat quietly behind the control yoke, clad in a pair of rugged blue-gray pants and a high-collared black jacket with red on the shoulders. A nondescript spacer’s outfit as compared to his armor. It was comfortable, offered mobility, and wouldn’t attract too much attention to his Republic or Jedi affiliation if there was trouble. Not that he was expecting trouble, but experience had taught him that problems had a way of popping up when he least expected.

Glancing around the cockpit, Ash noted that _Echo_ had definitely seen better days. The most obvious were missing panels that left internal wiring and system components exposed. They were likely discarded long ago, the mechanics assuming that repairs and replacing parts was a far faster operation without having to remove the useless façade. At least the former owner had taken good care of it, based on how clean and free of carbon-scoring everything was. Discoloration and chipped paint ran along the exposed durasteel bones of the ship, but it also gave a rustic character and charm. _Better to have aesthetic problems than engines or life support_.

Along with the typical cockpit windows around him at eye level, this one had sloped transparisteel panels built into the floor for better visibility. He was sure they added it to make landing on small platforms or difficult terrain easier, but he appreciated that it also gave him a less obstructed view of space surrounding him as he flew. Depending on what was in sight, it could be quite cathartic. He tried not to stare into the swirl of hyperspace for too long though, lest he give himself vertigo.

Rhythmic beats filled the space around him. A downtempo instrumental tune that was meant to relax him without distracting from his work. Scanning over the datapad in one hand, Ashnox reviewed his current to-do list. To save time, he’d put everything - personal and professional - on one screen. A way to see the entirety of the tasks that lay before him. Making constant lists of tasks, reminders, notes for projects, all of it helped him stay focused and effectively get everything done that he needed to complete.

Resting his eyes on the empty co-pilot’s seat, he felt a pang of loneliness. Jae had taken _Ascension_ and M2-D7 off to Hutt Space weeks ago, and last he heard, they were spending some time on Baroonda. Swoop racing, that was the reason she gave him. Something about how that Ortolan fixer needed her to run a few races in an on-going sponsored circuit. The fact that her current fling would also be meeting her there had only helped her willingness to go. Supposedly they had met through the holonet, but Ash didn’t know much about the man. Could have been a Sith lord, for all he knew. There was a certain irony to the fact that he was out here alone, without his ship or his partner. Not that they needed to be together all the time, but it felt strange being alone right now.

 _Did I do this to myself_? It occurred to him that perhaps in an attempt to be as supportive as possible of Jae’s side projects, he was somehow being too supportive. _Is that a thing? Can someone be too supportive_? He was currently the one flying a third-hand ship into the Core Worlds to handle business while she was enjoying competition and parties in Hutt Space. ... _Maybe it is a thing_.

Sliding out of the pilot’s seat, Ashnox took a moment to stretch his muscles, stiff from sitting in that seat for so long. His back was especially tight from his posture for the last few hours. It hadn’t been necessary to stay stationary with the autopilot activated and the navicomputer coordinates locked in, but somehow it had felt more professional to just work on things there. More precaution in case of an emergency.

There was a simple step down to access the main cabin, a mostly rectangular area for whatever the ship was tasked to carry. The far end was made up of a thick wall with a large panel for accessing the engine compartment for repairs. A couple scratched-up benches in the center could be used for either passengers or cargo, depending on the mission. The only real cargo Ash was carrying was a duraplast box with simple hardware. He'd removed the lid once it was on board for easier access. Inside was a mix of pre-packaged snacks, a selection of music chips from different genres for entertainment, and a variety of spare clothes and gear he might need on his trip. There were even a couple cushions in there, in case he felt like trying to fit a nap in while the navicomputer kept the ship on course. More like packing for vacation than an official assignment.

As the last few bars of the song faded, Ashnox found himself in the near-silence of space flight. Only the white noise of the reactor humming through the bulkheads around him. Its suddenness was a little unnerving, especially with everything on his mind. There was probably something to be gleaned from the fact that he was rarely alone with his own thoughts, but it was healthy to take time alone and actually process. Usually he did everything he could to avoid this sort of solitude, throwing himself into anything else instead - dealing with the war, consuming all manner of entertainment, or running around completing little tasks. Staying occupied and focused with the constant buzz of music, holofilms, or the distraction of obligations.

In a moment of clarity, he realized that he had never really spent the time dealing with anything that had happened these past few years. Being captured and imprisoned on an Imperial warship for months. Having a Sith lord toy with him and his emotions before trying to make him fight her apprentice for amusement. Losing Fiira Tans, the Jedi Master that was like a mother to him, to an Imperial offensive in the darkened tunnels of Coronet City. And especially almost dying at the hands of that Dashade assassin on Tuuro. Ashnox still had dreams now and then of the messy wound and the rushing water that nearly drowned him. Things that had a hand in shaping the person he was today, whether he chose to acknowledge it or not.

 _I’m fine. Everyone in the Galaxy deals with issues, and mine don’t really compare to so many. Some people have lost their families and possessions to become refugees or find themselves as slaves to the Sith_.

The Jedi code ordered ‘ _there is no emotion, there is peace_.’ It led many Jedi to learn to suppress their negative emotions or push them aside to avoid being controlled by them, but at some point, there would be too much built up to push back down. So few Jedi really dealt with feelings of depression or what they'd experienced first-hand in the war, assuming being seen as struggling would only find them punished. That admitting to sadness or frustration would be interpreted as the dark side, rather than something natural and valid.

Shaking his head, Ash reached into the crate and placed one of the cushions on the bench so he could try to sit and meditate. Settling himself, he closed his eyes to try and let go. It was a strange thought. That he was a member of a very small group in the scope of the Galaxy, a group of special individuals with abilities beyond those of most people - but even so, he felt wholly unremarkable. He wasn’t the best duelist, the wisest and most learned, or the most powerful in communing with the Force’s mysteries. There would be no seat on the Jedi Council one day, but at the same time, he didn’t aspire to sit in those chambers. _Was it just enough to be average among those seen as great? Does that make me any less of a Jedi at the end of the day_?

He shook his head in response to his self-questioning. _As long as I’m trying to help people and finding happiness in those I care about, why should it matter_?

He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. It was hard to figure out what he truly had control over, while allowing everything else to just flow. _Let go_ , he told himself, _and allow it all to just flow past you_. His thoughts and worries had become such immovable obstacles that blocked him everywhere he turned, when they needed to just be objects floating in the stream of things. The Force was a living, shifting thing. Fighting it was counterproductive, no matter how much he tried. It didn’t mean he wasn’t stubborn about it.

And strangely enough, the one thing he seemed to have any control over was trying to contribute to winning the war. Ever since he’d recovered from his injuries, Ashnox had been trying to find a way to fight, making an effort to build back his close ties with both the Republic military and SIS. Their responses were enthusiastic to have one of the Order assisting them, but his specialization as a sentinel meant they needed to be selective with the missions they assigned him. Avoiding frontline combat assignments or sending him to drawn-out peace negotiations that were better suited for guardians or consulars. In Ash’s opinion though, it was for the best. He much preferred doing what he was good at.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before a soft beeping sound came from the cockpit. It was a gentle reminder that he was almost to his destination. If that was truly the case, he’d been meditating longer than he expected. Letting out one final breath, Ashnox stood and headed back to his station. Taking a few extra seconds to refasten his harness, he moved his hand to rest lightly on the hyperdrive lever.

Outside shifted back into realspace and revealed a massive ringed planet ahead of the small ship - Esseles. One of the founding worlds of the Republic, it held not only cultural, but commercial and military importance. Brilliant green swaths of lush forest could be seen in the gaps between expansive cloud systems traveling across the skies. Ashnox hadn’t checked the reports before coming, but perhaps he’d arrived during one of their rainy seasons. It made him reconsider the route he took through the Bormea Sector to get here. _Maybe I should have stopped on Chandrila? Then again, it would have been extra bureaucracy to get checked in at their spaceport_ … Brentaal might have been a better option. Plus there was a solid place there that he could have picked up a well-cooked meal.

Swooping in close over the rings that encircled Esseles, it gave him a better view of the uncommon astrological feature. Transparent from a distance, the belt was made up of millions of icy chunks floating in a very specific gravitational band. It looked far more fragile up close, delicately held in place. A wide mix of sizes and shapes, they ranged from boulders lined with dark veins of sediment to tiny crystalline shards no bigger than grains of sand.

Passing through the high clouds, Ashnox steered _Echo Runner_ towards the capital of Calamar. Although he’d never visited the city, its reputation was well known in Republic media. A city that reveled in its cultural trend-setting, educational campuses, opportunities for wilderness recreation, and as a center of art. There was a chance some of that was manufactured, however, as the Esselians were also known for their booming holoproduction industry. Easier to steer the conversation when you’re the one writing it.

Beneath his hull, the volcanic mountain chains jutted up into the sky. Their steep and rugged terrain was distinctive, and reminded Ashnox vaguely of his time on Balmorra. That planet wasn’t nearly as green as this one though. Thick tree cover stretched between the bases of the rocky towers, undulating in a spectrum of shades. Now and then, he spotted rivers winding through the landscape that nourished both the plant life and the citizens that lived here.

Calamar itself had been built into the rocky ridges above one of the deep river valleys. The cityscape was packed with rounded structures, domes, and conical spires. Varieties of colored stone and metals from across the Republic and Outer Rim gave walkways and buildings an extra level of vibrancy. There were so many different styles yet similar overall themes that kept the city feeling fresh and cosmopolitan, while also tying it to its ancient past.

Aiming his bow in the direction of the spaceport, Ashnox found a new appreciation for the lower cockpit view. Taking a leisurely pace, he flew just above the buildings and watched the city below. Now and then he could spot gilded fountains, waving banners with the emblem of the local government, and flocks of exotic birds soaring on the valley’s air currents. Crowds of people packed the numerous outdoor restaurants and strolled along the promenades. Even with all of the chaos and destruction at the Republic’s edge, it was nice to see this oasis of peace.

Lowering into the open docking bay, Ashnox powered down each of the ship’s systems. He paused for one final moment to check for any missed messages on the comms display before everything went dark. Slipping out of the harness, he headed for the access hatch on the side of the cabin. As he passed the crate, he used the Force to pull his lightsaber hilts into his hands and clipped them onto his belt. Essesles may be a Republic world, but it was always good to have a prepared defense.

Hopping down the half meter from the open hatch to the docking bay floor, Ashnox was struck by the climate. Warmer and wetter than he was expecting for such a temperate looking place. The air felt heavy around him, and was probably fed by the heat from all the volcanoes across the surface. Wearing his coat would be a little uncomfortable, so he slipped it off and tossed it back inside before closing the hatch.

At the far end of the room, the hangar door slid upwards, revealing a human male and Cathar female. The fair-skinned man had more of a beard than Ashnox remembered, but was the same spy he’d known for years. The woman he knew well enough as his wife. She had shoulder length brown hair, and light-colored fur on most of her face. Brown patterns and light stripes prominently ran along her nose and forehead, with a few radiating out from the edge of her eyes. Her green eyes watched him closely as she stopped and let her other half continue on to greet him.

“I didn’t realize I was getting a welcoming committee.” Ash said playfully.

“I thought it was only polite when I’m asking you to play courier.” Ryn Hyssa smiled as he approached. “Not sure where you got this old piece of junk though. I’m surprised the thing is flight worthy.”

“Cheaper to go with something surplus, and I wasn’t about to try and explain to the Council why my usual ship was unavailable.” Ashnox slipped the trio of datacards out of one of his pouches. “You know it would have been much faster to just transmit these to you over the Holonet. How’s being a Bureau Chief? Still working in the Insider Threat office, I assume?”

Hyssa took the cards and tucked them away. “A temporary assignment to the Core Worlds to investigate some reports personally. It’s why I couldn’t trust anyone but you to bring what I needed.”

The concern in his voice and the emotions coming from him had Ashnox worried. Hyssa wasn’t one for paranoia or being especially unsure about most things. “What’s going on? At least as far as you can tell me.”

“You deserve that much for coming all this way. There’s been concerning incidents all over the place: a couple cases of fleet ships having a system sabotaged by a crew member. Weapon caches are going missing , but there’s no evidence they’re making it onto the black market. We even found an officer caught with Republic ship deployments for the far Outer Rim.”

“Very strange. Have you been able to get any of them to talk?”

“That’s what’s even stranger. Every one we’ve gone to arrest has either killed themselves or were killed fighting. Our initial theory was the obvious one - an Imperial plot. But I can’t find evidence. They haven’t used Imperial gear or taken the usual suicide capsules. And there’s no focus on a specific planet or sector that would point to an upcoming offensive.”

Ashnox nodded. “I don’t have any insights, but I’ll keep my ears open for anything that might shed light on this.”

“I appreciate it. Now, c’mon. We probably shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Once they were close enough, Hyssa motioned to the woman in the doorway. "You remember my wife, Sama Ket?"

"Of course I do. It's been awhile since we all spent time together, and well overdue. As I recall, she has the best Sabacc face of anyone I’ve met."

Sama smirked as the compliment. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“Ryn dragged you out here too?”

“That’s the joy of forensic consulting. Every planet has crimes that need to be solved. Droids can carry out the science part, but they can’t think like an organic mind. First though, let’s get some food. There’s a restaurant not far from here I’d love to try. I can tell you all about it.”

“Sounds wonderful. Lead the way.” Following closely behind, Ashnox smiled quietly to himself. Even for all the stresses and problems he knew were waiting in his subconscious, it was good to be around friends. And maybe sharing some of his struggles with people he knew supported him would be the first step to finding a little less weight on his shoulders.


	8. Preserving the Past

### \--︱Preserving the Past

#### 3638 BBY

#### Summit Outpost

#### Rhen Var

Stalking a target was a hard thing to do while acting casual, Mys Guro noted with some frustration. Quiet and remote buildings didn’t quite have the same opportunities to stay hidden like a lush forest or bustling city. He took his time to note the obscure tapestries adorning the old stone walls or art mounted on plinths while scanning the occasional face that passed. His helmet had a decent facial recognition program that was near flawless if he preloaded known images. Rushing in too quickly, however, could cause his quarry to flee like an angry tach, disappearing before Guro had the shot.

Art interested him less than history. From the outside, the outpost he stood in appeared to be nothing more than old ruins built into the mountainside and frozen in place by ramparts of ice. The upper levels were different from most of the wind-worn stone, however. Battle wounds from blasters, bombing, and lightsabers scarred the walls and left the edges much more jagged. When it was quiet, one could even hear the frigid winds whistle through the holes in the walls. The Mandalorian in Guro appreciated that this place’s past wasn’t hidden away behind a shiny facade. His contacts had informed him the building was once a Sith fortress for some Dark Councilor. That was back during the last war, when he was only a child. The Republic was eventually able to drive the Imperials off world in a massive battle for this wasteland, but at an incredibly high cost. 

Once the war ended, a quiet but shrewd Umbaran had moved in on the now empty structure. Taking advantage of the situation, he hired teams to clear out the dead and debris, renovated the damage on the lower floors, and turned a symbol of the war into a simple trading outpost. _That was what businessmen did, right? Taking something unwanted and selling it to whoever will buy_? Guro wouldn’t judge the man for seizing on an opportunity. And the location was convenient, providing a stopover before continuing deeper into the old Hegemony.

Only a handful of people sat around what this place deemed the outpost's cantina, quietly drinking or looking through the large, frosted window at the endless snowscape outside. Mostly furry Talz, humans in layered clothes, and a lone Chiss spacer in the corner. It was warm in here from the climate regulators, which had Guro tempted to take his helmet off to grab a drink. But business came first. He could celebrate with something hot and comforting once this was over.

 _With my luck so far, old age will get me before this ends_. It had taken nearly three years of searching to get this close to his goal. Hopefully a half dozen planets and dead-ends would finally give him closure.

At least the hardest part had been right at the beginning. It involved tracking down the debris field that was once a treasure ship - _King's Ransom_. An Imperial trophy case that was a strange mix of museum and pirate ship roaming the hyperlanes, it had allegedly been blown up by its own fleet. Rumors and guesses abounded about the deep conspiracy behind the why, but Guro had never been interested in fancy stories. He just wanted the evidence.

Three weeks he searched the sector before finding the ship's resting place near Nar Shaddaa, and it took another two days to scan through enough wreckage to build a lead. When the reactor had detonated, the force hurled pieces nearly a star system away. As for everything inside, much of it was likely incinerated. His objective was gone, but his skill with slicing came in handy when he recovered one of the bridge consoles that wasn't entirely scorched.

It turned out that the ship was in the middle of being robbed when the battle started, and the holocamera had logged their faces during the assault. Providing reasonable encouragement to the Deucalon Spaceport official with a fistful of credits earned him specifics on the ship they traveled on. A freighter predictably registered on the violent and spice-rich world of Mon Gazza.

Finding a non-descript spot to lean against the wall, Guro adjusted his dark green and silver armor plating. At least from here he could better scan the room and develop a plan on where to look next. There wasn't much outside other than a generator building and enough ice for every bar in the Core. No, if they were here, he would find them soon enough.

It should have ended originally back on Mon Gazza. A simple lead that was meant to have a simple conclusion. Guro had correctly assumed they would retreat to somewhere they knew after such a violent event, but his own search of the wreckage had him lagging too far behind. By the time he made it to the lodgings they were staying at, he found out they had just left an hour before. Racing back to the spaceport through massive machinery and dingy backstreets, Guro had watched their ship's bright burning thrusters dim in the dusty night as they escaped.

Almost a year passed before he’d gotten lucky enough to uncover a new lead - this time on Nar Shaddaa. Back where he’d begun, and the irony was more frustrating than amusing. A Cartel officer for Raskurro the Hutt had reached out to say the pair had popped their heads up in the Duros Sector. The Hutt had captured one of his targets a while back as part of a deal with Rogun the Butcher, but the deal had gone south. Now they kept an eye out in case anyone returned for revenge. Guro assumed they saw him as a contingency plan and he wasn’t about to correct their thinking.

The moon was small but densely populated with its thousand layer cityscape across every meter of the surface, making finding a specific person difficult. Better news when he at least had a sector to start in. If his quarry had headed to a merchant sector, it could only be to try and fence what goods they didn’t want or were too cumbersome to keep. It was the perfect place to lay low and avoid the obvious questions about an object’s origins. Rare artifacts were a tricky business though and few buyers were likely to risk a sale when the Imperial stamp was so prominently displayed. Hutt Space or not, the Imperials could be ruthless in getting back what they saw as rightfully theirs.

Landing at the spaceport and paying his docking fees in hard credits meant Guro was able to avoid registration and slip in quietly. He’d found a cheap and dingy room to lay his head while he ventured about, tuning out the constant noise of the city and unidentifiable smells as he slept. Each day was a trip to a new market to question local vendors about if they’d seen the men trying to fence the goods or questioning some information brokers about what it would cost to part with intelligence. Although he tracked down some of their safer sales, it was clear they moved around often. A wise move as they spread out their ill-gotten gains all over to avoid suspicion. Guro had only planned to stay a few days but ended up spending more than a standard month taking in the neon-lit and polluted atmosphere before learning they’d escaped yet again.

Numerous rumors and unsubstantiated sightings had come in as time passed, but Guro ruled all of them out. It meant plenty of time traveling through hyperspace and just to be frustrated by nothing when he landed. It was enough to start straining his faith that he would ever catch up with them.

And then there was Erigorm. Between all the other retrieval missions and obligations to the clans, word had come in that the thieves were spotted in the financial hub of the Republic. Both easier to find those that stood out while harder by standing out himself. The Mandalorians had a rocky history with the Republic, especially after the blockade of the Hydian Way. Guro found himself spending more time slinking from building to building and trying to stay out of sight than he had in Hutt Space. It turned out the pair were looking to store what credits they hadn’t immediately spent in a secure account. With a bit of creativity and research, the Mandalorian had forced a meeting with the manager of the Royal Bank of Erigorm just a few blocks from his home. After a bit of crying and pleading at the mere sight of Guro’s armor, the man revealed the partners had passed through only a few days earlier, on their way offworld. Yet another dead end that-

 _There_. Guro would know the man’s face even without his helmet’s assistance - Vaz Traniff. The Cathar’s fur was a tawny color across his face, with a pair of dark circular spots above and below each feline eye. His hair was shoulder length and russet in a carefree style. The man's well-built frame sat with a steaming drink in one hand and didn’t seem aware of the Mandalorian’s presence. Although Vaz wore a heavy coat for the elements, Guro was sure he would have at least a blaster tucked away for defense.

Temptation almost got the better of Guro, wanting to move in when he had the man in sight, but he held his position and watched silently. There were two targets and it was better to confront them both at once.

He took a calming breath, letting his body relax a little, even as he remained alert. It was what had finally brought him to this small, mostly uninhabited world on the edge of the Tion Cluster. Word that two men matching his description had landed a day earlier, looking for fuel and inquiring about old temple ruins buried under the ice. Guro hadn’t hesitated to drop everything and lock in a flight vector. He had waited long enough, and there was no way he would let them escape again.

And there was the young human to round out the other half of this pairing. His fair skin ran up the shaved sides of his head to a high and tight style of blond hair across the top. His cheeks were pink and a touch wind-burned with the cold here. Cradling his hot drink, he sat down with an easy smile.

Slipping the pistol free of its dewback leather holster, Guro kept his hand low and his body positioned so they couldn't see he was already armed. Moving just off to the side of the Cathar's chair, he tilted the blaster's muzzle level with the man's neck.

"Vaz Traniff? We need to talk."

Vaz started to turn, but stopped when he spotted the blaster. Instead, he made sure his hands were resting in plain sight on the table. The mark of someone that had looked down a barrel more than once. "I don't want any trouble. What are you looking for, credits? I'm just a humble man, so there's not much I can give you."

The Mandalorian scoffed. "Somehow that tale of woe seems a bit more far-fetched after your visit to the _King's Ransom_."

Now real fear leapt into the man's eyes. "Ah, well, in that case, it seems things just became a bit more complicated. Why don't you have a seat, maybe stow your little friend, and we can have that chat you were lookin' for."

Guro noticed the kid fidget in his seat. A natural shifting of weight that would make it easier to lunge. Between the beskar plating and the pistol in his hand, that would be a very poor decision. Vaz seemed to notice it as well.

"Whoa, whoa. Sit down, Combo." The Cathar ordered quietly.

Combo decided to shift to a verbal defense. "It was just another heist. We were working with the Voidhound. You can ask them what happened that day!"

Guro's voice was sharp and low. "I don't give a kriff about the Voidhound. I'm not after some camtonos of drinking money or a handful of gems. I just want the skull."

"The- Wait, the skull?" Vaz looked both baffled and relieved. "All you want is some dusty old bones?"

"Watch your mouth, thief. Show the dead some respect."

"Sure, sure. Didn't mean anything by it. Combo, go grab it from my crate in the room. It's right under the old photoreceptor." He motioned towards the area with rented rooms. Perhaps it was a ruse, but it seemed like he wanted this business over with as quickly as possible.

"But-" The young human protested.

Vaz was firm with his partner. "Just do it! I told this guy I don't want any trouble, and trust me, there'll be a lot less trouble for us if we give it to the Mandalorian. I don't want anyone less cordial showing up."

“Okay.” After a moment of hesitation, the man turned and headed towards the hallways.

When he was out of sight, Vaz’s voice dropped in pitch. “Thanks for letting me diffuse things.” 

“I’m not here to take lives. I just want what I came for.”

“Honestly, we weren’t quite sure what we were going to do with it after we picked it up. Precious stones and fancy art is one thing, but a skull? It’s harder to fence than I think either of us expected.”

“Hm.” The noise was both firm and disapproving.

The Cathar took the cue to be a bit more thoughtful with his speech. In the meantime, they both lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Guro assumed his still unholstered weapon only added to the current tension. It only took a couple minutes before they spotted Combo hurrying his way back towards the table. His stutter-step seemed to be fighting the urge to run while trying to look calm. Slowing to a near stop when he reached the table, Combo took his time presenting what looked like an orb covered in worn fabric. His speed made it clear enough that he was being compliant and trying to avoid a fight.

Vaz lifted the cloth-wrapped object from the table and passed it over gently. “Here you go, Mando. It’s all yours, as agreed.”

Unwrapping it, Guro turned the yellowed bone carefully over in his hand with quiet reverence. The examination was only practical if he hoped to insure this was the real thing and not some replica. Running his gloved finger along the jawline and base of the spine, he found the subtle impressions he was looking for. Places where the great warrior’s cybernetics once sustained his body in old age. A gaping hole with rough edges marked the fatal wound that finally felled Mandalore the Preserver, once known only as Canderous Ordo.

He could hardly believe that he was holding such an important part of Mandalorian history. It scarcely felt real, almost as if there were power in the object before him. It was hard to believe the man that had once united the warring Mandalorian clans had been reduced to this, but at least he would be going home.

"We also have an old droid photoreceptor we found during that heist, if you're looking to buy." Vaz's voice cut into his thoughts with his salesman's pitch.

"Keep it. I have no need for some old piece of junk." Turning, Guro headed back the way he entered. He had what he'd come for, and there was little point in sticking around this frozen rock.

Daylight cast intense beams through the occasional window, blazing bright between patches of shadow. Most of it would be indirect light, reflecting off of the hard-packed snow outside. The lights placed along the hallways were no match for the where the natural light streamed in. Guro wasn’t bothered by the constant shift, however, as his helmet was quick to compensate for the change. It was actually quite a majestic view outside - frosted mountain peaks jutting into the sky and thick clouds flowing like a river on the wind. From here it wasn’t quite as inhospitable.

A man stood just inside the outpost’s heavy door with a similar faceless helmet, locking onto Guro as he came closer. ‘Mynock,’ as he was known to his clan, was the contingency plan if the thieves hadn’t been so forthcoming. His armor was far darker in comparison, all dark bronzes and black that helped him blend into the dim light of the vestibule. Scarlet and golden details stood out on his pauldrons and left thigh plating. Unlike Guro, Mynock was openly carrying a weapon, holding the cut-down carbine low to avoid appearing too threatening. A wide-bladed and razor sharp beskad was clipped in place just behind his left hip. The Mandalorian iron sword was for when combat required a more personal touch. He would have been a very efficient way of retrieving the relic, if even half the tales of his glory from the Battle of Corellia were true.

"Please tell me this is the last time you're going to drag me on one of these wild bantha chases. Freezing my _shebs_ off, even out of the blizzard."

Guro ignored the jibe. "Our mission is complete. Let The Historian know." 

" _Ruyot Mando'ade_? Never understood that title. She's still an _aruetii_ to me." 

"And you can be a real _mir'sheb_ sometimes. She's been searching for this artifact longer than I have, regardless of your feelings. It's a major piece of our history and culture that we’re bringing home to its rightful place. Just do it."

"You can call her when we're back in orbit."

Guro would have fought more, but Mynock technically had seniority, and there was no breaking his resolve when he felt like being stubborn. "Fine. At least go get the _Jai’galaar_ ready for takeoff, if you don't mind. You want to be out of here anyway, and then you can be done with all of my inglorious hunts. Head back to Shae and her little operation on Rishi, where you never have to deal with another snowflake."

"Best news I've heard all day." Mynock said under his breath as he stalked out the main door. His jetpack glowed through the falling snow with blue flame as he launched out of sight for a shorter trip back to the ship.

Guro silently hoped that they could pass as much of the coming journey without interacting. On opposite sides of the ship, if that was possible. It would be a long journey back to Geonosis, but the arid world and Mandalore the Vindicated fortress was the closest thing to a permanent home he’d ever known. It would be good to see the smile on Stev Makow’s face as well at his success. _She may not be a full Mandalorian, but the Historian is helping to preserve my people’s history and ways - one artifact at a time_.


End file.
